The Telling Tale
by Tsu Doh Nimh
Summary: Seeker Cassandra has finally tracked down the Warden, three years after her old recruit Anders started the Mage-Templar War. How does a Seeker  convince a mage to side with the Chantry?
1. Prologue

In dim, flickering candlelight, Chantry Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast glared down at the petite elf in front of her.

It was a good glare; an intimidating glare. For all that her eyes were the warm colour of wild-flower honey, it was a glare that dredged at the mind for long-forgotten terrors. It had reduced grown men to quivering boys desperate for the protection of their mother's arms. It was a glare that had people spilling all sorts of secrets, in the desperate, yet often vain hope that her curiosity would be sated, that she would then leave them be.

It helped that the Seeker's height enabled to tower over the mage. Her armour, oiled, glossy black with the silver, unclosing eye, added a level of intimidation that few others could hope to muster. All in all, she was a coldly beautiful woman whose expression and demeanour threatened a short, painful future if her questions were not answered. Of all the Seekers, she stood supreme.

"That's a good stare you've got there," the elf said with a smirk, her flippancy masked by a voice that was rough, damaged. "I suspect it's useful in your line of work."

Cassandra continued glaring. "What would you know of my work, Warden?" she retorted.

Moving with instinctive grace, the slender mage sat down on the edge of the hard cot and looked around the cell, from bed to walls to ceiling, all the while unperturbed by the verbal venom. Cassandra watched as she even casually brushed a crumb of flaked masonry off the coarse woollen blanket. "A bit." She paused, apparently considering her answer. "Well, perhaps it's more accurate to say I know a bit about what you Seekers want others to believe, and inferred a bit from what you don't. Secret societies with lots of power but little oversight tend to get a bit pissed when real secrets about them gets out. They start stomping on necks." She smirked at Cassandra, the expression calculated to cause maximum offence. "Preferably the specific necks that embarrassed them, but any particular large number of necks will do in a pinch."

The Seeker allowed herself to follow the elf's gaze around the small prison cell, rather than snap a response. It was decidedly pleasant, as far as cells went - almost comfortable. It was slightly larger than her own monastic cell in the Cathedral at Nevarra City, where she was based. And while it was almost as well equipped, the single significant difference was that the door to this cell was only lockable from the outside. Prison cells were like that.

Next to the head of the cot was a small table, where a small, lit candelabrum stood next to a statuette of Andraste. Against one wall stood a plain, if serviceable desk, upon which rested several blank sheets of vellum, a quill and a small, covered ink pot. A pair of sturdy chairs sat on either side of the desk. A rudimentary garderobe and a thin window, barely the width of a man's hand wide rounded out the remaining features.

Cassandra mentally shook herself. It wouldn't do to get distracted, not now when she finally had the chance to speak to Kathryn Surana, the Hero of Ferelden. Even if the chance had come far, far too late.

"We do not punish the innocent."

The elf barked a humourless laugh. "For a given value of 'innocent', yes? When the Chantry controls how a sin is defined, guilt is trivial to assign."

Cassandra's eyes narrowed. "We seek the truth. I seek the truth. That is all you need to know."

The elf snorted, not at all accepting of the declaration. "You seek a scapegoat. Nothing more."

Cassandra's hands clenched into fists. Few had ever dared to challenge her so openly, but then, she had never interrogated someone who personally possessed such power that they could insult the might of the Chantry with impunity. This petite elf was one such person. She had power enough to tear the Chantry down. Or, preferably to Cassandra, to prop it back up. Diplomacy was required here, not intimidation. "No. Scapegoats and excuses are for nobles and grand clerics. People insecure in their own power. I have no such insecurities. I seek the truth, Warden."

The Grey Warden shook her head, all humour gone in an instant. "You'll forgive me if my personal experience with Chantry stooges trumps mere words and opinion, no matter how much conviction with which you speak them."

The Seeker swallowed, and fought not to drop her head in shame. What this mage was said to have suffered at the hands of elements within the templar order had given her nightmares. Of course, her response to those indignities was even more terrifying, for all the veneer of civility the mage cultivated. "It was not the Chantry who violated you. It was a group of rogue templars."

Emerald eyes hardened instantly, and Cassandra felt an unfamiliar flash of fear as the sticky, tingling sensation of magical potential thrummed in the air. It was a tangible reminder of just how powerful this small woman was. "What stunning hypocrisy. I mean it, that's some top quality stuff. It was one rogue mage who destroyed the Kirkwall Cathedral, but that hasn't stopped your Chantry declaring every mage life in Thedas forfeit."

"Those declarations that were made by Knight-Commanders of individual Mage Circles, not by the Divine Justine! Those impetuous fools have brought Thedas to the edge of annihilation," she replied diplomatically, aware that challenging the charge of hypocrisy would alienate this woman further. "Blessed Divine seeks to end this conflict before it consumes us all. To that end, I was sent to enlist the aid of the Champion of Kirkwall." Cassandra paused. "Your friend and companion, Leliana, was sent to find you. She is convinced that you have the power to end this conflict."

The Warden barked a bitter laugh. "The Kathryn Surana that Leliana knew probably would have helped unasked. She definitely would have at least tried to keep the deaths to a minimum."  
>"But you are not that person any more."<p>

"No," the elf said, her tone so cold that the Seeker felt gooseflesh rise on her arms and neck. "As ambivalent as I am about this war, my side was selected for me. By the very Chantry you seek to protect; the very Chantry that is now desperate for my help to survive."

Cassandra nodded gravely. "The irony does not escape me." She paused momentarily. "Would you tell me the story?"

Kathryn gave a derisory laugh. "No."

The Seeker sighed. She was far too used to her demands being obeyed instantly. Learning gentler persuasion methods had not been necessary. "Help me, Warden. Help me to empathise with your position. Help me to understand your motivations."

"To what possible purpose?"

"Saving countless lives across all of Thedas is not purpose enough?"

Kathryn shrugged. "The Chantry hierarchy is power-mad and corrupt. Most of the higher ranking Mothers spent more time dabbling in politics than caring for their flock. During the Orlesian occupation of Ferelden, the Chantry actively supported the invaders, leading to countless deaths among the oppressed Fereldan peasants they were sworn to protect. Perhaps, over time, more lives will be spared if the Chantry is eradicated. Have you considered that?"

"And perhaps more will die."

Mage and Seeker considered each other, both staying quiet for a long time. The Warden broke the silence first, with an amused chuckle. "Well, your argument-free rebuttal of my contention has convinced me. I will tell you. But you will need to hear it all. Everything that happened since I ended the Blight." She leaned forward, her emerald eyes staring straight into Cassandra's. "But I give you a fair warning - you are not going to like it. When you hear of the things I've done, of the events I have set in motion and their inevitable consequences, you might understand. I'm not particularly confident, but you may understand."

"I know the facts behind recent events. As I said, I wish to understand your motivations."

Kathryn shook her head. "No, I don't mean my motivations. I mean that you may understand that Thedas is doomed."

Cassandra frowned. "Thedas is engulfed in a war between factions that threaten to destroy civilisation as we know it."

Another condescending snort. It seemed to be a common dismissal of whatever the Warden perceived as stupidity. "I'm not talking about this inconsequential skirmish. It's been going on for three years now. It is just the overture." A smile spread over her features that had no trace of humour whatever. "No, Cassandra. I'm talking about what is coming after."

Such was the certainty in her words that the Seeker paled. "After?"

"Yes. After. Templars or mages, whoever wins this pitiful little scrap is going to inherit a world too weak to survive the storm that is coming. Shall I begin?"

o_ooo000ooo_o

Fort Drakon was a right bugger to work on.

Not in - I would have loved to have worked in one of the available rooms, though the blood-stained walls would make it a touch uncomfortable. No, working on top of the tower, exposed to the chill winds as winter gave way to spring was a bit beyond uncomfortable. I was going through several potent ice salves a day and my fingers were still freezing.

Still, after two months work I'd almost finished with the carcass of the corrupted Old God. I refused point blank to let the archdemon cadaver be burned after the battle. It was an opportunity for knowledge that came along only once a Blight.

Journals, vellum scrolls and workbooks covered my makeshift desk, protected from the winds by a barrier spell I'd managed to wheedle out of Wynne. They contained the combined results of my labours; documenting the physical attributes, strengths and weaknesses of the ancient dragon's form. From hide thickness to scale strength. From bone density to the acidity of its digestive tract.

After each piece of the corpse was studied, measured, dissected and documented, it was shipped off to Wade to play with. The man was a genius in the true sense of the word, and I was looking forward to seeing some of his finished products. Apparently, my archdemon-scale armour was his crowning glory. Until, of course, he made another crowning glory. He was that sort of genius.

Despite the salve on my hands, my fingers were blue from the cold as I carefully measured and noted the dimensions of the few remaining bones. My sketching skills had improved out of sight as I had progressed through my task. By the time I was finished, I would almost be good enough to do a decent job.

Behind me, someone cleared their throat, diplomatically trying to attract my attention.

I looked up from my work and over my shoulder to see the King, standing there with his hands on his hips. He pointed at me, with a theatric expression of doubt on his face. "Kathryn Surana, right?" he said, in the tone of voice he used when he thought he was being his most amusing. "I think I remember you from somewhere. Didn't we save the world or something?"

"Prat," I said with a smile. "It's only been a few days since I visited you."

"Fifteen days, Kat. Fifteen."

I frowned. "Rubbish, I saw you..." I paused, trying to remember.

He shook his head. "I came up here five days ago, yes. But you haven't been to the palace in over a fortnight. I'm beginning to think you intend to live up here. You can move in if you want, but I'll need to charge you rent."

I shook my head with a soft snort of laughter. "Shall we go for a walk along the battlements?" I asked, pointedly looking at Alistair's guards. I wasn't going to be spouting Warden business while in earshot of anyone but the King.

Alistair looked at me gravely. "Is that necessary?"

I shrugged, but nodded, just as gravely. "I might need to discuss some things with you that shouldn't be overheard."

Alistair stared at me for a long moment, searching my face, but eventually nodded. "All right. Callum, please stay here. I'll be back shortly."

The Captain of the King's Guard narrowed his eyes disapprovingly, but nodded his assent. "As you wish, Your Majesty."

I smiled at my old comrade at arms. "Just let me clean up."

Without waiting for an answer, I walked over to a stone ledge where I'd left a basin of clean water, a cake of harsh peasant soap and a coarse hessian towel. I flared some fire magic to set the water steaming before I scrubbed the crusted remains of archdemonic gore from my hands and fingernails. I dried off with the towel. Maker, it was nice to have warm fingers again, even if only temporarily.

"Come on then," I said, setting off around the few exposed remnants of the archdemon towards the unguarded battlements.

Alistair sighed, but followed. "You know, your determination to ignore my new station in life - one that you forced on me, I might add - is causing equal measure of amusement and disaffection among my servants and guards, not to mention quite some scandal among the nobility."

I laughed at the complaint. "Exactly how long have you known me? I don't believe in titles, Alistair, and I wont use them. Unless sarcasm dictates, of course.."

"Of course," he replied with a smirk in his voice. He caught up to me as I leaned on the stonework surrounding the top of Fort Drakon, my forearms against the rough granite.

"So, what brings you all the way up here?" I asked him.

He mimicked my stance, leaning on his forearms on the battlements and looking out over the city. Being over a foot taller, he had to lean down further. It didn't look particularly comfortable. "Well, sometimes I just find myself hankering to relive the good old days. You know - you and me, naked together in a cell downstairs."

"Anora would cut your testicles out of your scrotum with a cheese knife if she heard you talking like that."

Alistair's smile wiped away the fatigue from hard months of ruling a shattered nation. "Well, that image certainly helps add to the atmosphere of imminent pain, torture and death, doesn't it? It's almost just like it was when we were locked up downstairs." He looked at my expression. "I suppose it's a good thing you called me over here alone. She won't hear about it from me, so unless you tell her, we're in the clear."

"Well, since she can't stand to associate with the likes of me, I doubt I'll have the opportunity," I laughed. "That is of course assuming that she hasn't followed you and is eavesdropping on us now."  
>Alistair laughed too, clear and honest. "She'd never have made it up all the stairs to the top of the tower. Not one for strenuous exercise, my wife. She hates the idea of perspiration. Thinks it should be outlawed. I plan to come up here the next time I need to get away from her."<p>

I snorted softly. "She'd just send someone with a cheese platter to stand at the entrance and let the smell waft up the stairs."

"Curses. Foiled again. My grand scheme needs some work it seems." The smile fell away, and the lines of fatigue returned. "I need you to finish this… this… distraction of yours, Kat," he said, gesturing back to the remains of the draconic corpse. "You're the Commander of the Grey in Ferelden, and you have duties that you need to see to."

"I also need to finish this, Alistair. It's important."

The King pursed his lips together. "Why is it taking so long? We could have stripped the false Andraste down to the bone in less than a week had we the time and inclination."

I sighed. Keeping things secret from Alistair didn't sit well with me, but this was potentially too big to let him know. I stuck with my prepared script. "I'm not just stripping it down for usable materials! I'm trying to document all its weaknesses! You know that. Anyway, I'm nearly done; I should only be another week or so. And at the end of it, you and the rest of the Wardens will have copies of a detailed manual on the biological weaknesses of archdemons. It will be very useful come the next Blight. Or can't Ferelden survive without me for two more weeks?"

He scowled. "Kat, we need you. I need you."

"Surprised, I am not. I'm amazed this country hasn't collapsed under the weight of its own incompetence."

"Kat," Alistair said, exasperated.

"What? You know it's true. Between the Battle of Ostagar and the end of the Blight, we didn't meet another single person in the entire country who was both an ally and capable of finding their own arse without one of us assisting. I'm amazed Eamon can use the privy without someone to hold his-"

Alistair coughed. "Yes, yes, I get the point. And since disagreeing with you simply ends up with me being ranted at for an hour, I'll shut up now."

"See? Being King has made you wise beyond measure."

He grimaced. "Thanks awfully," he said, his usual cheerful manner briefly shining through once more. "But I was serious when I said I needed you. Ferelden is weak - we're ripe for invasion. We need a show of strength, and despite your feelings on the matter, you are the strongest symbol we have."

"You just said I've got duties to the Wardens. How will that work with being your symbol?"

"Hopefully, we can manage both. But about that - I've received some correspondence from Weisshaupt. The First Warden is getting a bit impatient for your report of the Blight and wants a lot of the archdemon blood you collected. They're nearly out."

I grunted, not particularly bothered by the First Warden's impatience. The man had abandoned Alistair and I, holding the Wardens from other countries back for 'when' the Blight consumed Ferelden and spread. As a tactical decision, it made a pragmatic, if evil sense. Grey Wardens had been essentially peripheral for four hundred years, and extracting ongoing tithes from governments for unspecified future services was difficult at the best of times. A Blight destroying an entire country because it had no Wardens would probably ensure prompt payment of tithes for the next century or so.

But, speaking as one of the two Wardens he had chosen to sacrifice to improve his political position, I found myself a bit put out. He could wait - we had. "I'm working on it in my copious amounts of spare time. Like when you aren't parading me through the streets or when I'm not working here. Anyway, I'm nearly done with that too. He can sodding well wait."

"Still put out with him, huh?"

I snapped my head round to glare at him. "I can't believe you're not! You still blame me for sparing Loghain! At least he was actually trying to save Ferelden!"

Alistair's face darkened. "Maker's breath! He-"

I took a deep breath and held up a hand. "Let's not have this argument again. It never ends well," I pleaded.

"Fine," the answer came with an explosive breath.

I sighed. "What did you want me to do, Alistair?"

He paused, weighing his words. "I need you to go to the Circle."

I dropped my head and sighed again, deeper this time. "Maker preserve me. May I ask why?"

"The Chantry hasn't recognised Anora's proclamation giving the Circle independence."

"Surely you aren't surprised. I didn't expect Anora to actually announce it, I only asked for it on a whim."

Alistair grunted. "We expected resistance; it was never going to be a popular idea with the Divine."

"What does Irving have to say? He should have some clout - he and the other mages stood up here with me against the archdemon."

Alistair shrugged, his face carefully blank at my less-than-subtle dig about his absence at that decisive battle. "I haven't received anything from Irving since before he got back to the Circle six weeks ago. For all I know, Greagoir had him imprisoned for not rejecting the proclamation."

"Ah. And you want me to go and find out what's happened."

"Exactly."

I shook my head. "Have you sent anyone else?"

"Yes. The templars are denying anyone access to the island, even Royal messengers. And since they control the ferry…"

"What makes you think they would let me in? Or that they won't just arrest me?"

Alistair's expression morphed into one of shock. "You're a Grey Warden! They can't arrest you!"

I snorted loudly, sounding not unlike Oghren snoring. "Right. I'm safe from them, so long as they don't outnumber me ten-to-one and that there aren't any reliable witnesses nearby."

Alistair looked troubled. "Do you really think that, or are you just being pessimistic?"

I gave a small shrug. "I just don't trust them. In my entire life, of all the templars I've encountered, there have been exactly three who saw me as something other than a danger to be neutralised. The rest all looked as though they were working out how hard they'd have to swing to decapitate me."

"I hope I'm on that first list."

I chuckled softly. "You never took your vows, remember? No, I mean Cullen, Bryant and Otto. They all treated me as a person first. Especially poor Otto, he actually treated me with respect. But he got a trident through the heart for rejecting the Chantry's stance on letting the elves fend for themselves, Cullen was tortured into insanity and Bryant was probably slaughtered by the darkspawn at Lothering."

"Fair enough." He paused. "Will you go, Kat? Or am I going to have to order you to go?"

"You are a bastard, you know that?"

Alistair chuckled softly. "I seem to recall telling you that very fact one night at camp."

"I don't get it. Why me? You know what my brand of diplomacy is like."

He nodded. "I do. Oghren is more subtle. That's why I'm sending you. Look, Greagoir is ignoring the usual royal overtures. I need someone who is capable of shaking things up a bit. Eamon pointed out that you could probably shake the tower enough to bring it down."

"How nice of him. I may just have to have a long chat with your Chancellor," I grumbled, standing up straight and turning around. "You are aware that if I go, the templars will get aggressive. They don't like that I'm no longer under their control. And I will meet aggression with aggression. If I don't, I'll be imprisoned in that tower before you can blink. Since I don't like being locked up, there will be some... unpleasantness."

Alistair grimaced. "You don't know that. Greagoir might let you in and listen to you."

"I do know that. And if you were honest with yourself, you'd admit you know it too."

He sighed. "Fine. I know, but it might not be as bad as you think."

I shook my head at his naivety. "There are going to be deaths, Alistair. I guarantee it. I won't go in there unprepared, and I will defend myself at the first sign of aggression. Those templar deaths will pretty much ensure her Grand Bitchiness will be on your doorstep demanding a predictable and disproportionate response."

He rubbed his brow, looking harried. "I know," he almost whined, "but royal requests regarding the Circle sent to her get rebuffed too. She's blatantly waving her autonomy from me while pushing hard to extend her own influence over me, and I can't back down. I must show her that I'm not a Chantry doormat. Just... try to keep the unnecessary deaths to a minimum, yes? I need to send the Grand Cleric a message that she cannot simply ignore the Crown when it suits her."

I snorted. "Yeah, sending me to the Circle to deliver a message will do that, for sure."

He shook his head at my tone. "Please, just try and be diplomatic? Having her call for an Exalted March would be a little inconvenient right now."

"I imagine you're right."

"Kat, look, I need to get someone into the Circle Tower first before I can negotiate this, and you are the only available person who is permitted access."

"I do not consider myself a Circle mage anymore," I insisted.

"I know, but the Grand Cleric does."

I smirked. "Yes, I got her request-slash-demand that I return to the Circle's governance. I didn't bother responding." I sighed deeply. "All right. Give me ten days to finish up here. I'll have my report to the First Bastard in Weisshaupt done by then too. If I go by the North Road, I can stop in at Soldier's Peak on the way. I need to discuss an idea I had with Avernus, assuming he and Jowan haven't killed each other yet."

"I'll have a patrol ready to escort you."

I shot a surprised glance at him. "What for? The off chance that there's another archdemon out there? I have Thunder; I don't need any more of an escort."

Alistair shook his head. "As formidable as your gigantic mabari is, you're an Arlessa, or at least you will be after the next Landsmeet. You are entitled - and expected - to travel with an armed escort."

"And you're an idiot. Wardens cannot hold a title. You're only the King because there isn't another direct descendant of Therin blood, and that you renounced being an active Warden. Do you seriously think that the majority of your nobles would vote to let an elf hold a title, let alone one as prestigious as Arlessa? They'd laugh in your face, even if you threatened to perform bowel surgery on them with a rusty spoon. A majority certainly wouldn't vote to let a mage hold a title. You might get a couple with unmarried younger sons on side by nominating an unmarried woman, but do you honestly think that you can stand before them and ask for their blessing to let an unmarriable, elven, Grey Warden mage run the most valuable arling in Ferelden? You're bonkers."

He chuckled. "You're severely underestimating your popularity, you know. The Grand Cleric is becoming quite miffed at how much your accomplishments have raised the profile of mages. Nearly every noble in the country has sent her a request to allow them to hire one or two."

I blinked. I hadn't known that. "Really?"

"Yep. Mostly as healers, of course, they all got reports of Wynne's effectiveness during the Blight. But several on the Bannorn want a mage for other things – it's more effective to use mage fire to purge Blighted fields, for example. Joining their guard to assist with bandit attacks, that sort of thing."

"Only Circle mages? Didn't you send out word for apostates to serve in the army?"

"I did. I got a shrill note from the Divine herself about it, but having healers and elementalists in the ranks will help with limiting attrition and increasing assault strength at a time when we really need it. Any non-maleficar mage is welcome to join, but they will have to submit to the Circle when they leave service."

I snapped my head around to stare at him. "What?"

He held up his hands in a gesture of peace. "Don't look at me like that; I had to give the Grand Cleric that concession to get her to stop yelling at me, and I think she only agreed when she realised that she wouldn't have to use her resources to hunt all the apostates down. But those outside the Circle will have a safe haven as long as they are enlisted." He grinned, and raised a finger, adopting a lecturing pose. "Remember, they are entitled to enlist for as long as they like. Technically, they don't have to go back to the Circle."

I frowned, pleased that he hadn't just agreed to discard mages who helped his country. "That still doesn't explain how you're going to convince a bunch of pompous, egocentric nobles that they should just roll over and vote the way you want."

"Leave it to Anora. She has a plan."

"Somehow that idea does not surprise me. Nor, I might add, does it fill me with confidence. Does this plan of Anora's involve me inadvertently insulting some powerful noble who happens to be standing in the way of some unrelated royal scheme or two, gruesomely and publicly killing him in the subsequent honour duel and thus improving her position while cowing the rest of the recalcitrant nobles into line?"

He looked horrified. "No! Why in the Maker's name would you think that?"

I crossed my arms. "Experience," I forced out through clenched teeth. "You have met your wife, haven't you?"

Alistair shuffled uncomfortably, but didn't deny it. "Yes, I mean, no! Wait, I mean, yes I've met my wife, and no, her plan doesn't involve you killing anyone. At least I don't think it does. I can't follow one of her schemes from one end to the other without keeping notes."

I bit my lip. "What about Orlais? Does she have plots to counteract their territorial ambitions?"

"Yes. The Empress is trying to reestablish diplomatic ties, but..."

"If her spies find out just how weak we are from the Blight her aid would come with the non-negotiable addition of chevaliers."

He nodded glumly. "She already knows, but yeah. I think we managed to buy ourselves maybe three or four months by neutralising Marjolaine and collecting Cailan's correspondence at Ostagar, but already there are Orlesians who claim to be merchants arriving weekly with plenty of coin but little in the way of inventory."

"I've been thinking about this, you know."

Alistair's eyes brightened. "Really?"

I nodded. "We may be weak, but we've got a remarkable amount of good will with others within our borders. Why bother negotiating with Orlais when you can strengthen your position locally? You've let mages know they'd be welcome serving the country, how about the elves and dwarves?"

"What do you mean?"

"Contact Lanaya and some of the other clan Keepers and negotiate some sort of troop swap agreement. Suggest that some volunteer archers and scouts from the Dalish clans could come and work with your army to destroy the darkspawn stragglers in the Bannorn, and you could likewise send some of your troops to work with them getting the darkspawn out of the forests. There's plenty of archers in the army who'd jump at the chance to spend a few months learning the craft from the best. And during the Blight, some of the Dalish warriors expressed admiration in the way our forces worked as a unit. Lanaya was stunned at the way a squad of twelve men could work together to hold a line of three times that many darkspawn in place to be picked off by archers and mages."

He considered it for a moment. "That's not a bad idea."

I warmed to my topic. "Elves trained to function as a unit would be far more effective than individual hunters. And elven-trained human archers would be an asset to any army. But the real benefits would flow from camaraderie. Humans and elves fighting together against a common enemy would generate mutual respect, not just for individuals, but for both races as a whole."

Alistair nodded thoughtfully. "Anything that lessened the chance of fighting between the Dalish and humans would be a positive. I can't see the dwarves deciding to come to the surface though."

I smiled at the thought. "Hardly. It took a Blight and an ancient treaty to get them out this time. No, I was thinking something different for them. Bhelen is a progressive, relatively speaking; I'm sure he's aware that the dwarves have only a couple of generations before the population levels are unrecoverable."

"So what would be mutually beneficial? Or perhaps more to the point, what would be mutually beneficial that Bhelen would agree to that wouldn't strain our resources? Are there enough dwarves on the surface to help with population problems?"

"Yes, but I was thinking about helping him reclaim some of the old Thaigs. Restricted as they are to just Orzammar, they have no room to expand. With the darkspawn in retreat, they have a once in who-knows-how-long chance to bring a couple of their abandoned Thaigs permanently back under dwarvern control. It would help on all fronts - more room for their current population, greater availability of ores to mine, and the deshyrs would focus their resources on reclaiming and defending new territory instead of fighting each other over the same shrinking territory. If Bhelen could get some Thaigs restored and populated, the Assembly could potentially set him up as a Paragon. He'd go for that faster than Oghren goes for your drinks cabinet."

Alistair frowned. "That's a lot of risk for little reward on our part."

I shook my head in disagreement. "Only if you're on the front lines; and it would be pretty insulting to suggest that they wouldn't be up for the task. No, we wouldn't need to offer any military help. Our company made some pretty good maps of the Deep Roads during our time down there. We could use them to locate other possible Deep Road entrances in western Ferelden."

"Why?"

I sighed, mentally cursing Eamon. Alistair's upbringing was not one you wanted in a King. "Part of the dwarvern mindset is that everything needs to be done below ground. If we can find entrances near the Aeducan or Ortan Thaigs - or maybe even Cadash Thaig - we could create overland supply routes to them without the need for travelling through miles of darkspawn-infested tunnels. All that trade would help get coin moving in Ferelden again, which would flow into tax revenues. And the dwarves would be in a far better position to defend the reclaimed Thaigs with strong, stable supply lines they don't need to use half their warriors to defend."

"I suppose they would. But why those specific Thaigs?"

"They're the ones we know of that are under Ferelden territory or close to the border. And I suspect that Bhelen would be most interested in reclaiming his family's Thaig. Fortunately, that is the one that has the best chance to be reclaimed. It is the closest to Orzammar. Plus, it's near Redcliffe; a trading post at a Deep Roads entrance between the two would be booming within months of occupation."

Alistair thought about this. "What about the others? The City of the Dead would be the best one to fortify, given its position and layout. Hold that one and Bhelen could reclaim the other nearby Thaigs at leisure."

"Bownammar is well into Orlesian territory, so unless you want to give the Orleasians the trade revenue, we can't really help there. Mind you, a repaired and reclaimed City of the Dead up would be an incredible sight."

"You see, this is why I wanted you as my advisor. Why hasn't Eamon suggested these things?"

I scowled, my mood evaporating instantly. "Eamon is an idiot, that's why."

Alistair closed his eyes and shook his head. "I won't argue, not after last time, but you have to admit that he's the best of a bad bunch."

"Since I haven't had the opportunity to be completely screwed over by any of the other contenders, I'll have to take you word for it."

The King smiled sadly. "Forget I said anything. Do you have any other bright ideas?"

Yes, but you won't like them, I thought to myself. "Some, but they're long-term plans for Soldier's Peak and the Wardens rather than things that would impact the day to day running of Ferelden."

He cooed and clapped his hands like a child seeing a pile of presents on First Day. "Ooo, like what?"

I paused, wondering exactly which of my plans I should tell him. "Well, like setting up Avernus' tower at the Peak as a small Mage Circle - without the templars. A place where we can study magical subjects that the Chantry bans because they consider them dangerous. Or, more realistically, because they have no way to control them. Shapeshifting magic, Dalish magic, Arcane Warrior magic, Blood magic, anything. Circle mages, apostates and maleficars alike could come and study, so long as they abided by a peace agreement and shared their knowledge with the Wardens."

Alistair shifted uncomfortably. "Blood mages too?"

"It would be rude to eject the current occupants and hypocritical to exclude others if they stayed. Besides, you need to understand how something works before you can develop effective defences against it," I argued. "Just imagine how much more effective Warden mages could be if we could all change shape, wear armour, carry swords and resist mind control."

He winced. "I don't disagree; really I don't, but..." He struggled, unable to voice his concerns. I wasn't surprised; his templar training had instilled certain values, even if the past year and a bit had done quite a bit to erode them down to realistic levels. "Do you have any ideas that won't give me indigestion?"

I grinned at him, wondering how he'd take this one. "I'd like to try and get my hands on some dragon eggs or maybe some newly hatched dragonlings."

Alistair's left eye twitched. "Why?" he asked, slowly and carefully, already dreading the answer.

"Because griffons are extinct," I said simply.

He closed his eyes and appeared to count to twenty. Perhaps thirty. "Tell me you're joking."

"Tell me it wouldn't have been useful having a handful of tame, fire-breathing dragons to ride during the Blight."

"You know what? I'm just going to stop asking for ideas that have nothing to do with running my kingdom. I'm all set for nightmares now thanks to just those two."

"A pity," I said with a toss of my head. "The next one would probably give you insomnia." I paused, considering. "Or you'd have me confined to a sanitarium, I can't be sure."

"Right. Keep that one to yourself, if you please."

"Will do."

"I appreciate it."

"Glad to help."

He shook his head, laughing. "I do miss talking like this with you, Kat. When you're done here, come and relax in the palace for a day or so. I'll have a missive for Greagoir and a proposal for Bhelen drawn up. If you're going to the Circle, it makes sense to add Orzammar to your itinerary."

I tapped my chin in thought. "Write one to Lanaya too and I'll swing down south on my way back. I wanted to head down into the Wilds soon anyway."

"Dare I ask why?"

"I don't know, do you dare?"

He paused weighing his options. "After what you said before... It's nothing too horrible, is it?"

I shook my head, deciding to put him out of his misery, despite how amusing his reticence was. "No,

I'm just going to look for some plants that grow down there for some experiments. I can't get good samples here in Denerim."

He looked relieved. "I believe you, if only because I really don't want to know if you're lying." He paused, and started laughing before continuing. "Just think, you could point out all the places of interest to your escort on your round tour of Ferelden." He forced his voice to a higher pitch that resembled my own awful voice. "That's where we killed a bunch of darkspawn. And that's where the Antivan Crows failed to kill us."

I snickered at the idea. "That's where another bunch of assassins sent by a mad Orlesian bardmaster failed to kill us."

"That's where a group of insane cultists failed to kill us."

"That's where a misornithic golem of stone squished some men that failed to kill us."

"That's a big word," he said approvingly. "That's where some giant walking trees failed to kill us."

I snorted at that memory. "That's where our camp was attacked and a stark-naked Oghren charged out of his tent and killed a bunch of darkspawn. They too failed to kill us."

"Ugh, don't remind me. I've been trying to purge the memories of that night." He again did that horrible impersonation of my voice. "That's where we faced Flemeth in the form of a High Dragon. She burned off all my robes and I had to walk through the Korcari Wilds in the charred remains of my smallclothes. But she also failed to kill us."

I punched him on his rock-hard bicep and growled, "That's where I took the King's virginity. Much to Morrigan's disappointment, it failed to kill him."

"Low blow."

"You started it."

"I don't want to play this game anymore." He rubbed his arm. "You do realise that lèse majesté is still a capital crime, right?" he asked, smiling.

"You do realise that sending people to hang me is a crime punishable by me flaming my way through all your guards and burning you to a crisp, right?"

He appeared to consider this. "Is that one in the current statutes? I don't remember seeing it written down."

My lips were twitching with the effort of not laughing. Alistair's templar-trained discipline of course meant that he managed to keep a straight face. "It's more an established precedent than an actual law. Does the name Howe mean anything to you?"

He tilted his head to one side, pretending to think hard. "Hmm, I seem to recall someone by that name. Didn't we kill him after he failed to kill us?"

"Yes, but you've just described an awfully long list of people."

"True," he said. He looked out over the city and sighed, his mirth evaporating. "I'll see if I can organise some building supplies and craftsmen to go with you to Soldier's Peak. There's still a lot to do here, but hopefully we can spare some people. We should get at least part of the Peak cleaned out and the doors and windows repaired before you start sending others to live there. Did you want to take Oghren with you? His patrol is due back in a few days."

I shook my head. "No thanks. He's enjoying his time in the army, and he has the respect of the troops, something he never got in Orzammar. Plus, he's keeping more of your people alive than I ever could. Better to keep him teaching young soldiers to fight darkspawn safely than wandering around the countryside with me. I'll take Zevran with me though."

Alistair coughed. "Er, I've sent him on an errand. Sorry."

Oh? The templar-turned-King was utilising the masterless assassin? He was maturing. Anora's influence, no doubt. "No problem. Thunder will keep me company. If the other Wardens don't show up to take their archdemon blood allocations before I leave, I'll take it all with me to the Peak. It will be safe there."

Alistair reached out and gave me a chaste hug. "It will be safe at Vigil's Keep too you know."  
>"You see, there's a rather large assumption there. It wouldn't be safe if I'm not Arlessa. Now sod off so I can get back to work. I'm on a deadline now."<p>

He chuckled. "Always a pleasure talking with you, Kat."

o_ooo000ooo_o


	2. Warden vs Warden

Disclaimer: Anything you recognise belongs to Bioware. Hopefully, that will be most of it.

* * *

><p>Cassandra paced back and forth in the small prison cell, her armour creaking with her sudden turns. Fury was plainly evident on her beautiful features. "You warned the King and he still sent you?"<p>

Kathryn tilted her head to one side, evaluating. "I suppose that says it all, doesn't it?" she whispered softly. She waved at Cassandra dismissively. "We're done here."

The Seeker stopped her pacing and stared. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that of all the things that Alistair and I discussed on top of Fort Drakon that day, the one thing that interests you above all others is the fact that I warned Alistair how the templars at the tower would react to me." She shook her head. "You really aren't interested in my story. You're not interested in the truth. As I said, you just want a scapegoat."

Cassandra recognised her error. When she was fully in control of an interrogation, she could muse aloud and still control the flow and direction of the exposition. Without any leverage over her, the Warden could stop her tale on a whim. "No. I need to know the truth. I had believed that the King was ignorant of the depth of ill-feeling between you and the Knight-Commander. That you warned him and he ignored you changes th-"

Kathryn snarled at her. "It changes nothing!" she snapped. "Your precious Chantry was so intent on gaining more power and influence in Ferelden after the Blight at the expense of the people that members of its hierarchy wilfully committed acts that would have anyone else hanged for treason."

Cassandra pursed her lips together, fighting down the impulse to attack this mage who would dare interrupt her. Had it been any other person, she'd not have bothered - she'd have skewered the bothersome toad in an instant. But this mage, for all her slight frame and delicate features, was feared by templars, nobles and maleficars alike. For very good reason. No, attacking her would inevitably lead to Cassandra's early grave, and more importantly, failure in her mission. "My... apologies," she said awkwardly. "You are correct that there are far more important things in your story than the idiocy of the Ferelden King. I would hear the rest. If you are willing to indulge me."

There was another silent pause between them. "We'll see. What do you know of the Wardens? Of our secrets?"

The Seeker blinked. "Why would that matter?"

"I want to know what I can divulge. A few days after my chat with Alistair, some Wardens from the Anderfels arrived. We discussed many things."

"Ah. I know some of your Warden secrets. I am not so egotistical to believe that I know them all, however. I know that you drink darkspawn blood, mixed with lyrium and archdemon blood in your Joining ritual, but I do not know the recipe. I know of your increased appetite and vigour, and of your decreased fertility and lifespan. I know of the ritual known as the Calling. I know that you can sense darkspawn, and that they can likewise sense you."

The expression of surprise on Kathryn's features pleased Cassandra. "You know quite a bit. More than I like, to tell the truth. Do all Seekers know, or have you interrogated one of my brothers?"

"The Warden hierarchy in Orlais have traditionally shared the secrets of their order with both the Crown and Divine."

Kathryn snarled. "Yes. Duncan's insistence on keeping those secrets at all costs lead to our order being all but wiped out at Ostagar. Yet after the Blight, the Orlesian Wardens felt comfortable in giving the secrets out to the seneschal of a backwater Keep." She shook her head. "Neither extreme position is useful."

Cassandra found herself feeling pity. "It is never helpful to have multiple command structures with differences of opinion."

"That I agree with." The elf sat back down on the cot. "Don't think I missed the fact that you didn't answer my question."

The Seeker sighed, unused to the uncomfortable requirement of providing answers. "Seekers investigating events influenced by Grey Wardens are given necessary background information, including what we know of your secrets. I have not personally interrogated any Grey Warden."

"Besides me," came the flippant response.

Cassandra allowed the ghost of a smile to appear on her lips. "This can hardly be considered an interrogation, Warden. I am under no illusion that I have the ability to compel you to answer my questions."

"True," Kathryn conceded. "Shall I continue?"

o_ooo000ooo_o

Three days later, Grey Wardens from Weisshaupt, the Imperium, Nevarra and the Free Marches arrived in Denerim. The Second Warden himself had been sent, and he collected a smattering of brothers and sisters from different countries on his journey south.

"Ah! Warden-Commander Kathryn, It is a pleasure to finally meet you!"

I looked the large blond man up and down. He was huge; closer in size to Sten than Alistair. His long hair was braided back in a single line, while his beard was left free. He carried an axe that was longer than I was tall, and probably weighed more too. His armour, while obviously expensive, was just as obviously not for show. This was a warrior who looked as though he left the battlefield littered with dismembered limbs and heads. And could probably, in a pinch, don a helmet and be used as a battering ram.

"Thank you, Warden, er..."

"Helmut, Second Warden Helmut, and nein, vielen dunk! Thank you! Ending the Blight in only a year! Wonderful!" His accent was thick, but his words were perfectly understandable.

I almost had to lean back to prevent his enthusiastic bellows from destroying my delicate eardrums. The man (half-Qunari maybe?) did not seem capable of speaking at anything resembling normal volume. "Thank you. Tell me, are all Anders as loud as you?"

He let loose a booming laugh that echoed in the palace corridor. "Nein, it is only me. I think Heinrich sends me out on these diplomatic visits to make sure they end quickly!"

One of the quieter Wardens in the group cleared his throat. "May we introduce ourselves?" he asked.

One by one, the Wardens from various northern places shook my hand and offered me congratulations on both my success in ending the Blight and my promotion. The delegation of twelve included two mages - a pair of fraternal twins. All of them spoke the language of Ferelden to one degree or another; a couple were as proficient as Helmut.

The introductions complete, the Second Warden slapped his thigh. "Come! I would like to see where our brother Loghain killed the archdemon."

I nodded. "Very well. Just let me grab someone." I put two fingers in my mouth and let loose a whistle.

One of the Wardens looked at me oddly. "You call for servant vith vhistle?" he asked, his accent thick as treacle.

I grinned at him as the scrabbling of claw on stone became audible. "No. This is Thunder."

A few moments later, my mabari skidded around the corner sideways at a dead run, trying to gain traction on the flagstones. He barked an enthusiastic greeting and bowled into me, almost knocking me flying. Laughing, I shouted, "Thunder! Down boy! There are some people I'd like you to meet."

Instantly, Thunder sat rigid at my side, the very picture of an obedient war hound.

I chuckled at the sight. "Brother Wardens, this is my mabari, Thunder. He stood with me against the Archdemon, and bit off more than his fair share of its hide. The collar he wears is made from the chunks he took off himself." I looked up from my dog into a collection of astonished faces. Each of them were staring at Thunder. They were confused about something. "Er, what is it?"

Helmut tore his gaze away and looked at me. "Dieser hund ist ein-, er, sorry. This hound; he is a Grey Warden! How is he a Warden? Did you let him -" he broke off and looked around, before leaning closer to me and continued in a whisper, "drink some Joining potion?" The fact he said it in almost a whisper impressed upon me just how confused he was.

"No. Er, perhaps you'd better start at the beginning. Why do you think he's a Warden?"

The female mage cleared her throat. "Some older Wardens can feel other Wardens, like we can feel darkspawn. We feel your hound is a Warden."

I frowned, looking down at Thunder. "He was killing darkspawn long before I became a Warden, and he was with me on the top of the Tower fighting the archdemon. He swallowed a lot of archdemon blood in that fight, and was very sick for a few days. I thought he was going to die."

Thunder whined at me, looking up at me with liquid eyes and thumping his tiny tail on the floor to let me know that he was fine.

"I know you're okay, boy." I said, scratching him behind his ears which, even with him sitting, were at the height of my armpits. I looked up at the Wardens. "Before Ostagar, Thunder was sick with the taint. He survived, and has been with me since. But after the battle with the Archdemon, and despite already being an adult, he has grown even larger. He's a good head taller and almost half-again as heavy as any other mabari. He's faster and stronger too."

Helmut rubbed his bearded chin. "A Warden hound. We will have to consider this."

The Wardens, as a group, gathered quite a crowd as we made our way to Fort Drakon. Many people called out and waved as they recognized me, or at least, recognized my armour. The deep, iridescent purple colour was distinctive at the very least.

We arrived shortly, and made our way to the top. The palace escort were huffing and wheezing with repressed breathlessness, but the famed Grey Warden vigour meant that not a single one of my brother and sister Wardens were even mildly out of breath. As a group, they scanned the battlefield, murmured appreciative noises at the sheer size of the last few remains of the archdemon, and expressed admiration at my journals and notes on archdemonic biology.

"Very detailed work," one of the mages complimented me, as she flipped through the pages. "Look," she said, holding up the book so another Warden could see the pages, "She even tested hide resistance against different magic schools. This will be very handy for the next Blight."

I nodded, pleased at the praise. "I'm glad you think so. I'm having copies made and sent to each Warden Commander."

Helmut nodded, looking around at the magnificent vista from the battlements. "Have you collected the," he paused and looked around, continuing in a much softer voice, 'blood?"

I nodded, gesturing back towards the centre spire. "I gathered as much as I could into reinforced vials, and put them in padded crates. The crates are over there."

He blinked. "There are no guards?"

I shook my head, and wiggled my fingers. "Barrier spell. No one is getting past it without killing me first."

He grunted, not looking pleased. "We shall need to take much of it. Our stores of blood are poor. Our numbers have fallen in the last ten years. We have been rationing to make it last longer. Now, we can bring our numbers back."

I frowned as I led him over to my storage area; a deep alcove in the stone wall, protected with a shimmering wall and an alarming number of glyphs and traps, the later courtesy of a talented assassin. The security precautions seemed to dull the Second Warden's dourness.

I banished the barrier and disarmed the glyphs. One of the Nevarran Wardens rubbed his hands together and asked if he could test his skill. At my nod, he eagerly set about disarming Zevran's traps. He cursed and jumped back at one point, muttering something under his breath. Zev was nothing if not a professional.

I selected one of the crates and carefully prised the lid. Helmut's eyes widened at the sight, dozens of small vials filled with archdemon blood, carefully packed and padded. "Splendid! How many of these do you have?"

I gestured to the alcove. "Thirty-seven, with the thirty-eighth a bit over half full," I said, neglecting to mention the dozen extra crates I'd secreted elsewhere.

Helmut grunted, eyes calculating. "You couldn't collect more? The beast was enormous."

I shook my head. "It took me two days and I used every prepared vial in the city. My companions sacked the Wonders of Thedas for every one they had, and they went through the abandoned wares of every merchant in the city. Yes, there was more blood to be taken, but nothing to keep it in. I've added that little lesson to my journal. Next Blight, the Wardens need to stock up on the supplies beforehand. Having more than one mage on hand would help too."

o_ooo000ooo_o

Kathryn paused, tapping her chin.

The silence extended for quite some time. Cassandra cleared her throat. "Well?"

"We discussed a few things about the Wardens, things you don't need to know. Procedural and security concerns - cyphers and the like."

The Seeker crossed her arms, her expression doubtful. "Really?"

Kathryn nodded. "Yes, really. Oh, I also I got berated for not recruiting anyone else since the Blight," she said with a snort.

Cassandra frowned. "Why hadn't you? I would have thought that the swell of goodwill would have provided you with an abundance of people wanting to join."

"There were fewer than you might think," the mage said with a grimace. "The archdemon was dead, the Blight over. Why join the Wardens? In any event, I had to turn what volunteers I had away, since we were skint. Howe had looted the Warden compound, with the exception of a hidden room, and that didn't have much in the way of coin. I had assigned quarters at the palace, sure, but I had nowhere else to billet recruits, and no way to pay them." She snorted again. "I wasn't about to recruit anyone until I had the resources to pay and house them. Ferelden was all but bankrupt, so I told Helmut to go back to Weisshaupt and open the Warden's treasury."

"He didn't take that well, I suspect," Cassandra said with the hint of a smile.

"You could say that. He agreed - eventually - but then took the opportunity to strip me of the only commodity I had an abundance of in return for his promise of aid. We argued long and hard about the allocation of blood, with the Anderfels getting the bulk and laying claim to a large percentage for Orlais as well. The Nevarrans grabbed theirs and Antiva's share, and then the rest of us squabbled over the scraps."

"It sounds like the Wardens are not as united as it would appear to outsiders."

Kathryn waved that away. "When it comes to the reason for our existence, we act as one. We kill darkspawn. But, split as we are on national lines, we are just as competitive as any other organisation."

"What happened after your 'discussions' then? Once you left Fort Drakon?"

The Warden grinned. "I took Helmut to see Alistair. He and Anora were a bit put out that the Wardens had disembarked their ship and gone straight to me instead of presenting themselves at court, but Alistair was even more annoyed about when we arrived. He still thinks I did it on purpose."

o_ooo000ooo_o

Helmut and I strode towards the King's personal suites. Well, Helmut strode, I had to skip every third step to keep up. It's a constant of my life that I'm surrounded by insanely tall, long-legged bastards. At least Oghren could relate.

The guards on duty were snickering and snorting softly as we approached, unable to maintain a straight face. I raised an eyebrow, glad for a target for my ire. "Something amusing?" I ground out with a snarl.

One cleared his throat, but that sound just sent his fellow into a mouth-covered fit. "Shut up, Dan!" he hissed out the side of his mouth, which only sent his companion even further into his giggles. "Sorry Warden-Commander. The King and Queen are meeting," he stopped briefly, his shoulders shaking, "with an Orlesian tailor. He and the King are," another pause for silent laughter, "not getting along."

Ah, they weren't laughing at me. I felt my cheeks heat. For all my accomplishments, as a female elf, I wasn't taken seriously by a great many people. I needed to work on being less self-conscious. "Fine. Alistair is expecting us. Let me in."

With a final snicker, the guard said, "At once, Warden-Commander." He rapped on the door, and opened it slightly. "You Majesties, the Warden-Commander and Second Warden of the Anderfels."

"Just a moment, please," came Alistair's grouchy reply.

"Admit them at once," countermanded Anora.

The door was opened fully, and Helmut and I entered. We encountered a scene I had never in my life expected to witness.

Alistair stood on a circular, padded stool, almost like a portable, padded dais. He was stripped to the waist, wearing only tight leggings, his arms outstretched and his expression murderous.

An undernourished, almost emaciated man with elegantly coifed hair, immaculate clothing and rouged cheeks fussed over a mass of silks, satins and other materials I had no names for. "Non, non, non, Your Majesty," he pleaded with Anora, whose pinched expression and tapping foot indicated that she had lost her patience about five minutes back and that unless her demands were met soon, someone was going to be on the receiving end of a royal tongue-lashing.

"Yes," Anora insisted, her smile forced. "The King is to be dressed in the latest fashion!"

Continuing in a thick Orlesian accent, the wispy man begged off. "This style, it enhances virility! Oui, it is most fashionable in Val Royeaux, for it makes a gelding appear as a stallion! On the courtiers of the Empress' Court, this is a most necessary thing, but on the King, no!"

Anora crossed her arms. I winced. That was almost a declaration of war.

The tailor continued, in the best traditions of suicidal merchants. "It would not do! It would be like putting a saddle on a bull! Non, his shoulders, his chest..." he gazed longingly at Alistair, who was almost instantly tomato-red. "Such musculature should not be disguised with padded sleeves and and faux creased folds! It should be on display!" he thrust his arm out, snatching up a shimmering fabric and draped it around Alistair's chest, pinching and holding the fabric in a most flattering way. "This! This style would be like a jewelled collar on a panther! It would take nothing away from His Majesty, but merely hint at a civility that could be discarded on a whim! He would be a predator amongst his vassals, ohh," he finished, dropping the fabric and picking up an embroidered fan, which he ineffectually waved in front of his face.

I looked up at Helmut, whose face was carefully blank. Evidently, the guards' amusement was entirely justified.

Anora shook her head imperiously. "I do not wish His Majesty to be establishing fashion trends this early in his reign. He needs to present as a modern, yet conservative figure, not a trailblazer!"

"Non, such a decision would be a travesty! The style would be, er, how do you say, overkill!" the man insisted.

I laughed at that and nodded to Alistair. He sighed and rolled his eyes in response.

"Mademoiselle? You have a different opinion?" he asked haughtily.

This time, Alistair laughed. "The mademoiselle does not believe in 'overkill'," he said in his signature, dry style. "The mademoiselle believes in destroying, demolishing, crushing, grinding into little pieces, burning the remains and then plowing the ashes." He nodded to Helmut. "Second Warden. I trust your visit to Fort Drakon was enlightening?"

Helmut bowed deeply. It would appear that the whole 'Wardens bow to no king' was figurative, rather than literal. "Your Majesty. Indeed, your tower fortress is a marvel. Your hospitality has been peerless."

Anora nodded to me, as though between equals, and then gave a series of perfunctory commands and orders to the tailor, with an arbitrary delivery date that sounded ambitious even to me. The man paled, stammered his agreement, then muttered in Orlesian as he was escorted from the room.

"Thank the Maker," Alistair said, jumping down from his raised dais. He snatched his undershirt from a waiting valet and tugged it on quickly. "You have no idea how uncomfortable that was."

I grinned at him as Anora huffed, "Honestly, you need to look your best for the Landsmeet. You simply cannot attend in armour!"

Alistair gave his wife a goofy grin. "I did last time, and look where it got me!"

The Queen just gave him an exasperated look. "Last time we were facing a Blight and a civil war. Despite the lack of imminent apocalypse, this Landsmeet will form the political basis for your reign."

Alistair sighed. "I know, you keep telling me. I'll be ready." He turned back to Helmut. "Is the First Warden satisfied with the Ferelden Wardens?"

Helmut tilted his head to one side, considering. "Satisfied? Proud is closer. No Warden expected that a Blight could be defeated in such a short time with so few people. He is a little disappointed, as are we all. A Blight happens in our time and all we got to do was hear of how a pair of young Wardens ended it. Heinrich is very pleased. And," he paused, looking a bit abashed, "ashamed at his decisions."

o_ooo000ooo_o

"Is there a reason you're telling me this?" Cassandra demanded.

Kathryn grinned at her. "A repressed woman like you? I thought you'd love the image of the Ferelden King stripped down to his smalls."

The Seeker's eyes flashed with rage, but there was a hint of colour on her cheeks that had not been there before. "Enough! What happened after the Wardens left?"

A shrug. "I finished off documenting the archdemon corpse, I wrote my report and prepared to go to the Circle."

"Then tell me about that." Cassandra waited through a moment of silence before sighing. "Please?"

o_ooo000ooo_o

"Excuse me, Warden-Commander."

I looked up from my bowl of stew. A vaguely familiar guard stood ramrod straight, her helmet under her left arm. "Yes... er, Mary, isn't it?" I asked, trying to remember her name.

The young guard nodded nervously. "Mhairi, Warden-Commander. The Arl of Redcliffe has requested your presence in his study at your convenience."

I glanced down at the almost-empty bowl. When uttered by a noble to a commoner or subordinate, the phrase 'at your convenience' meant 'right now, even if you have to get dressed on the way'. Eamon wasn't in a position to issue me orders though, which meant that I wouldn't respond until it actually _was_ convenient to me.

"Let me finish here. I won't be too long. Do you want a bowl? It's pretty good."

The guard hesitated, but shook her head. "Thank you, serah, but I'm off duty at ninth-hour. I'll have something then."

I smiled and ate another mouthful. "As you wish. I've never found it entertaining to watch other people eat, that's all."

Mhairi nodded, but remained stubbornly at attention.

Mentally I sighed. It was one thing to keep Eamon waiting. It was another to torment an innocent messenger. I took two more quick mouthfuls and pushed the remainder away. "Very well, let's go."

Even though I knew the way, Mhairi meticulously led me to our destination. Once we reached Eamon's office, she bowed to me and assumed her position on one side of the iron-bound door.

I knocked lightly and waited.

"Enter," called a tired voice from within the room.

I twisted the iron handle and pushed the heavy door open. The Chancellor's study was empty, with the obvious exception of the current tenant. Eamon Guerrin sat in a padded leather chair at his enormous oak desk, which was covered with neat stacks of parchment and vellum. The heavy-set man finished writing on the sheet in front of him, blotted the ink and then folded the vellum neatly. He reached out and opened the lacquered box containing his wax sticks. He selected a stick – emerald green, I noted, used for his personal correspondence, rather than the official purple wax - before heating the end over a candle. With practiced precision, he dripped an economic dollop onto the letter where the edges overlapped and pressed his signet into the waxy puddle.

"You asked to see me," I said, my voice neutral. Well, as neutral as I could make it when I was talking to this man.

"Ah, Warden-Commander. Welcome. Please, come in and take a seat," the Arl said, without lifting his eyes from his work.

I nodded slightly and made my way over to one of the three chairs on the near side of the desk. The man had difficulty meeting my eyes. He always had, ever since I had harangued him on his ashes-blessed recovery. As was my habit when entering a room filled with bookshelves, I let my gaze drift over the spines, my elf-keen eyesight able to make out the titles from across the room. Noting that there didn't seem to be any new additions to Eamon's collection, I sat in the leftmost chair and waited patiently for the Arl to speak.

He didn't dally. "I understand that you are setting off tomorrow for the Circle of Magi," he said. "I would like to ask you a favour."

I reached out a hand. "You'd like me to personally deliver that letter to your son, avoiding the templar censors."

Under his unkempt beard I could see his jaw clench. It was always enjoyable to second-guess him.

"Indeed," he ground out, handing the document over. "I have not received any correspondence from Connor since he was inducted there. Given the recalcitrant nature of Greagoir and the templars at the Circle, I suspect my earlier letters have not been delivered to him. I fear for him, for his safety. Should your duties permit, I would request that you wait for his reply."

I narrowed my eyes. "I have no intention of spending any more time in that Maker-forsaken tower than necessary. I will make it a priority to find Connor and deliver your missive, but I won't wait for a reply if he procrastinates."

Eamon nodded, clearly unhappy. "Very well. I have instructed him in the letter to inform you of his condition and satisfaction with his accommodations. I," he cleared his throat, preparing to say something difficult, "ahem, I sincerely appreciate this, Kathryn. Thank you."

I nodded, accepting his thanks without comment. Our relationship had never been what you'd call cordial. "Connor will be fine, Eamon," I said, "I believe his Harrowing is many years away yet. It will be more difficult for him than most others, given his unfortunate experiences." I smiled conspiratorially. "But, as I'm no longer a member of the Circle, they cannot enforce their idiotic code of secrecy on me. I can give him some advice that will help. If the reforms with the Circle last, you will be able to bring him to Denerim afterwards."

"_If_ _they last_," he said, wearily rubbing his forehead. "We can't even get them started. Even as Chancellor and with Their Majesties' personal approval, I cannot get permission to visit him. I wish we had other avenues available to us, but the Crown cannot open a dialogue with the Circle - our agents cannot cross to the island. Greagoir has cut off all access. It will be difficult enough for you to gain passage, any others you brought with you would be turned away." He shook his head. "Do you have a plan to gain entrance? If we are to force independence for the mages, it needs to be done quickly, while public opinion is still firmly on the side of the mages."

I nodded. "I have a few options. As a Harrowed mage of the Circle, technically I can return to the tower at any time. If that doesn't work, I can probably bluff or intimidate my way onto the island, and once I'm there I could claim to be recruiting for the Wardens. And if that doesn't work, I've got a letter from that idiot woman in charge of the Ferelden Chantry demanding I return to the Circle now that the Blight is over. I can use that to gain entry if I had to, but it would probably make leaving again problematic."

Eamon hummed what could be described as tentative agreement. "His Majesty is feeling pugnacious, given the treatment of his messengers, but please do not be overly antagonistic. We simply need you to open a channel for discussions, not negotiate our position."

I leaned back and crossed my arms. "And what if they insist that no one else is to be allowed access? If I am forced to be your negotiator, what are Alistair's requirements and what concessions he is prepared to give to achieve them?"

Eamon leaned back in his chair and crossed his own arms, mimicking my action. "You think that likely?"

I spread my hands. "It is possible, but how likely it is depends on Greagoir's orders from the Chantry. I cannot stay indefinitely, and if he is prepared to ignore any further negotiators, then it will be up to me to get something signed."

Eamon grimaced, knowing full well my negotiation skills were only of use in situations where sarcasm was the order of the day - or where weapons were already readied. "We do not have a strong position to begin the negotiations, and there is little we can concede they could not simply take. That is why I am hesitant to give you free reign."

I raised an eyebrow. "There are a couple of possibilities that could give you a reasonable opening position."

"I presume you are referring to your Right of Conscription?"

With a nod, I said, "That's one. Threatening to conscript every mage in the Circle, or every templar for that matter would, while legal, be a bit of a struggle to actually follow through with. But it is a valid negotiation point. However, I was referring to the Chantry's purview in controlling the mages."

"What of it?"

I grinned at him. "I went over every historical text I could get my hands on in minute detail while I was still an apprentice; I wanted to know anything that would help if I was ever in a position to leave." I rose and moved over to one of the bookshelves. I selected a leather-bound tome, and opened it to the first Article. I pointed the relevant passage out and how it could be used in negotiations with the templars. With a bit of legal dickering, Eamon agreed it was a possible negotiation point, and promised to draft a few royal documents that would be needed.

"I shall speak with Her Majesty and see if she will have anything to add. The documents will be ready before you leave tomorrow."

I nodded, wondering just what sort of changes Anora would make. Despite the rivalry the Queen and I had, I would readily admit that she had a magic all of her own when it came to politics. "Thank you. You do realise that Wynne could probably have gained entrance for your agents," I pointed out.

Eamon shook his head. "True enough, but Senior Enchanter Wynne is still in the Tevinter Imperium, and in her last missive she said that she will not be returning for some months."

I snorted. "How unsurprising. She was quite willing to push the whole 'duty to the Circle' line on me, but she takes off on a whim."

"There is also the fact that she is a staunch loyalist, and unlikely to champion the proposed changes."

I smiled and laughed softly at a memory. "Yeah, Avernus really had her number." I rose to my feet. "Was there anything else you wished to discuss?"

"There is, regarding your appointment as Arlessa, but nothing so important that it cannot wait until you return."

I nodded. "Very well then, good night."

"Good night, Warden-Commander."

I left Eamon's office, nodded to the guard Mhairi, and headed off. I debated returning to the kitchen to finish my meal, but decided against gorging myself a second time. Instead, I made my way to my quarters. Thunder was still awake, lying on a thick blanket in front of the fireplace, his mighty teeth and jaws making short work of an ox thighbone. The sound of splintering bone echoed slightly in the large room.

"You look like you're enjoying that."

Thunder looked up at me and gave a deep, enthusiastic, "Whuff!"

"Good. Get some rest; it's going to be a long day tomorrow."

o_ooo000ooo_o

The steely-grey light of pre-dawn filtered through the window when Thunder's insistent whining and nudging woke me. Still in the fog of waking-sleep, I fuzzily reached out and scratched behind his ears. "All right boy, I'm getting up."

I opened the door to let him out. The enormous mabari gave me a bark of thanks, and loped away. Experience had taught me that in the mornings, Thunder was keen to molest the kitchen staff for breakfast scraps and then go and infuriate the groundsmen obliged to keep the royal gardens clean. I refreshed myself and dressed in a comfortable shirt and leggings. I wasn't about to bother getting into my travelling gear until I'd had a Warden-sized breakfast.

I made my way to the barracks mess. As a royal guest I was permitted to sit in the official dining room, but while the food there was delicious, it was served in portions far too small to satisfy. With a few dozen palace guards on duty at all times, there was an enormous cauldron of porridge available in the mornings and an equally large pot of pea-and-mutton stew in the afternoon and evenings. When it came to food, Wardens went for quantity over quality as a rule. Going there meant that my usual portions wouldn't annoy the staff in the royal kitchen. Alistair could annoy them if he wished, but they were his servants, not mine.

I entered the mess, nodded to the elvish servants on duty and filled a bowl with porridge that was usually used to mix dough. I scraped out a few spoons of honey from the crock on the condiment shelf and sat down at one of the long tables. Slowly, I ate my way through the bowl of sweetened porridge, feeling more and more alert as the welcome heat filled my belly.

I was half way through my smaller, second bowl when a group of six guards entered the mess, four of them fresh-faced youths with a pair of experienced guards. I paid little attention to them, only enough to note that the older pair seemed to be giving the new guards something of an induction. The palace guards had been recruiting.

I returned my full attention to my breakfast. The peace was not to last.

"Hey, elf! This mess is for guards, not servants."

I glanced up at the speaker, one of the pair of older guards. I was not particularly surprised to note that he was speaking to me.

I snorted softly and shovelled another mouthful of porridge into my mouth.

He flushed red, but I noted that the four young recruits were looking at him with frowns. Interesting. They appeared to think his attitude was out of line.

"I'm talking to you, knife-ear! Get out!"

The three elvish servants preparing food dropped what they were doing and dashed from the room, the last two colliding with each other in their haste to leave. One of the new guards observed their retreat, a look of intense curiosity at the scene, before looking back at me. His eyes widened in realisation.

I swallowed and gave the bigot my full attention. "What did you call me?" I asked evenly.

He sneered at me. "What, are you deaf as well as stupid? This is our mess, and you're sitting at my table. Get out of here before I give you the thrashing you deserve."

I glanced around the room, pointedly noting the many, many empty chairs and tables.

"Uh, ser?" the guard with the wide eyes said in a hushed voice. "Ser? That's-"

"Shut up, recruit! This little knife-ear whore needs to know how things work around here." He grabbed the hilt of his belt dagger.

I sighed, and waved my hand in his direction. A shard of conjured stone slammed into his abdomen, doubling him over and hurling him away into the table behind him. Of the five other guards, four put their hands on their weapons. The lone exception was the one who apparently recognised me.

"Stop!" the young guard cried, grabbing two of his fellow recruits and holding them back. "She's the Grey Warden-Commander!"

The other three recruits gasped and stepped back. The second older guard whimpered audibly, and could not have paled more quickly had he been eviscerated.

I regarded the young, observant guard. "What's your name, recruit?"

"P-Pickering, serah, er, Warden-Commander, serah."

I nodded. "I like you, Pickering. You're more observant than the usual guard recruit. Develop that talent. If you were a few years older, I'd recruit you." I turned to look down at the obnoxious guard puking his guts up on the floor. There was blood in the vomitus. "You, on the other hand, are an idiot. If you'd drawn that weapon, I'd have killed you. Now, bugger off and see a healer so I can finish my breakfast in peace."

o_ooo000ooo_o

I somehow managed to finish my breakfast and make my way back to my room without being obliged to injure anyone else. I packed up my travelling gear, including my archdemon-scale armour. Instead of the armour, I pulled on an enchanted robe and strapped Spellweaver to my back. Thunder rummaged around his box in the corner for a moment before leaping over to me, carrying a spiked collar in his mouth.

I chuckled. "I guess you want this one, eh boy?" I said rhetorically. Thunder dropped the collar and barked an affirmative. I secured it around his neck, pitying anyone who got skewered by the vicious spikes. Once it was secured, he shook his neck and gave a soft bark of approval at how the spikes flashed around.

I secured my belt pouches in place and let Thunder pick up my pack. We left the only private room I'd ever had and made our way out of the palace to the marshalling yard.

The yard was filled with the sort of chaotic bustle that looked to be unproductive, yet still managed to accomplish much. I made my way over to a niche in the stone wall of the castle. Six guards stood arrayed around my magical barrier, behind which was over a dozen small, warded crates full of magically-sealed vials of archdemon blood. They was my -that is, Ferelden's - official allotment, plus the extra crates I'd stashed separately. I wasn't about to let the other Wardens leave Ferelden with less than its fair share of archdemonic ichor.

"Warden-Commander," one of the guards greeted me. "There's been quite some interest in your crates."

I sighed, and nodded. "I thought there would be. Having a half dozen guards stand over them was Alistair's idea, and he's still getting the hang of guard balance. Can you call over the wagon while I lower the barrier?"

He paled at my nonchalant use of the King's name, but nodded, and faced a different part of the marshalling yard. He raised a hand to his mouth and whistled. "Here it comes."

I reached out one hand to touch the magical barrier and concentrated. Wynne had taught me the basics of creating such a barrier during the many nights we spent together in camp, but Wilhelm's son Matthias had cheerfully shown me his father's research which made my barriers several steps above Wynne's best efforts. Through my fingertips, I sieved the magical harmonics, looking for the right combination.

There they were.

Twist.

Pull.

Unravel.

The barrier flashed and faded out of existence, leaving the crates exposed.

"That's quite a trick," one of the other guards said.

I smiled at him. "Yes, but it's a pain in the proverbial to keep up for long periods. Help me load the wagon?"

With six pairs of willing hands, loading the blood was done quickly. I took my travelling pack from my mabari and placed it in the back of the wagon. The wagon itself was already loaded with crates and sacks filled with supplies for the tower at Soldier's Peak. Avernus would be happy with his new supplies and toys.

Behind me I heard a familiar voice. "I heard you picked a fight with some of the palace guards." Each of the six guards with me gasped softly, before dropping to one knee.

I sighed, and turned around to see Alistair striding across the yard. Even within the walls of his own palace he wore Effort, the brightly burnished, silverite plate armour, and carried Starfang and Duncan's shield on his back. Anora's decision no doubt; ensuring that the visible evidence of His Majesty being a real, accomplished warrior was in front of everyone at all times. Personally, I'd have stuffed him into his brother's golden armour that we retrieved from Ostagar. But then, there were probably a dozen or more reasons why that would be a diplomatic blunder, and Anora was far more effective at shaping hearts and minds than I.

"You heard wrong," I responded flatly.

"Oh? I've got a guard sergeant in the infirmary with internal bleeding." He looked to the genuflecting guards. "Please, stand. Thank you. You are dismissed."

The guards rose, saluted and marched away. "Internal bleeding?" I echoed. "I didn't think I hit him that hard."

Alistair shrugged. "He was curiously silent on the cause of his injury, but the rumours are flying. Did you have to almost kill him? Recruitment is hard enough as it is."

Though his tone was light, there was a tension behind his words. I tilted my head back and levelled my gaze at him. "If one of your guards had told someone like, say, Isolde to 'get out', called her a whore and grabbed his dagger to threaten her with, he'd only have been hanged if he'd managed to escaped being decapitated on the spot."

He swallowed, and nodded in agreement. "True enough. I guess I should be glad he threatened someone capable of being so gentle with him."

I mirrored his nod. "Yes. Not only is he alive, he's also learned an important lesson about being observant." I chuckled at Alistair's expression. "Don't be too hard on him; rumours of his idiocy will take care of that." I paused. "Keep an eye on the recruit called Pickering though. He has potential."

"I'll do that. You think he'll make a good Warden?"

I nodded. "I think he would, but he's too young yet. But he will make you an excellent guard; I suggest you keep him. During the unfortunate incident this morning, he noticed things going on around him while the other guards were focused on bullying an elf."

He nodded. "Good to know. Oh, I've got some excellent news for you." He turned to face one end of the marshalling yard and waved an arm in the air.

I turned to look at what he was gesturing towards and saw a group of eight ox-pulled wagons loaded with lumber, tools and workers. A pair of men on horses who were directing the wagons waved back and rode over, a large mabari trotting between them.

They dismounted and bowed to Alistair. "Your Majesty," they said in unison. I scanned them over, noting that they had similar colouring and features despite their differences in size and gait. They were clearly both trained warriors, though the one with the close-trimmed goatee had the bulky shoulders and build of a man used to heavy armour, while the slender, clean-shaven man moved with a cat's grace and looked to favour lighter gear. Thunder eyed the new mabari, but did not consider the smaller, yet still impressive, war hound a threat. Both men both wore the same insignia on their breasts, though I didn't recognise it.

Alistair coughed, still not used to genuflection. "Fergus, Aedan, I'd like you to meet Kathryn Surana, Warden-Commander of Ferelden. Kathryn, this is Teyrn Fergus Cousland of Highever and his brother Aedan," he introduced us. So, the man with the facial hair was the second most powerful noble in the kingdom. That fact must get stuck in Eamon's craw.

I nodded to the pair. "Nice to meet you," I said simply. Why had Alistair wanted to introduce me? He knew my opinion of nobles.

"My Lady," Fergus said, taking my hand brushing his lips over the back of my glove. "His Majesty has told me all about you." I noted that the Teyrn's brother flushed slightly at his brother's archaic greeting.

I raised an eyebrow. "Obviously he hasn't told you about how I turn people who call me 'my lady' into statues and position them under flocks of pigeons." Shale always had so much to say about it, I figured it would make a vivid, yet not particularly insulting threat.

Alistair slapped his palm to his face, and Fergus coughed and snatched his hand back as though burned. While both of them turned red, Aedan laughed uproarishly. "Well brother, it seems that your Orlesian manners do not always work."

Fergus didn't directly respond to his brother's jibe, but just looked at me, his expression horrified. Perhaps he was the type of person who thought that annoying a mage was a terminal mistake. "Please accept my most humble apologies, Warden-Commander. I meant no disrespect."

Alistair, still covering his eyes with his hand, said in a pained voice, "Kat, Fergus is your liege lord." He dropped his hand and clarified, "Amaranthine is an arling within the Highever teyrnir."

I raised an eyebrow. "You keep speaking of my elevation to Arlessa as though it is a fait accompli. I imagine that most of the nobles in the Landsmeet would prefer someone like Aedan here to assume control, assuming any of Howe's remaining relatives are not suicidal enough to stake a counter-claim."

That raised the eyebrows of the Cousland brothers. "You also did not mention her realistic grasp of politics, Your Majesty," Fergus said.

Aedan's lips twitched. "Given her colourfully impolitic mannerisms, I'd say that most people don't suspect it either."

I smiled at the younger Cousland brother. "I like you."

He gave me an extravagant bow. His brother, coming to the conclusion that I wasn't about to immolate him with magical fire for an imagined insult, gave a weak smile. "Well pup, it looks like you have another admirer."

Aedan's face fell. "If Your Majesty will excuse me, I'll go and see to the wagons." Without waiting for a response, he spun on his heel, snatched up a set of reins and led his horse back to the wagons. To my surprise, the mabari followed him. I had assumed that the hound belonged to the Teyrn.

Fergus sighed. "Please forgive him, Your Majesty. During the attack on Highever he lost someone close. I shouldn't have brought it up." Fergus turned to face me. "And might I ask forgiveness from you as well, Warden-Commander."

I waved the apology away. "There is nothing to apologise for, Fergus. Just don't call me 'my lady', for the love of Andraste."

Fergus blinked at my use of his name. Alistair himself winced. "I did tell you that she was... informal."

Fergus nodded, looking more than a little unsure. "That you did. Quite, er, refreshing, isn't it?"

The King looked relieved. "Kat, Fergus brought a team of workmen to assist in the rebuilding of Denerim. With all the critical infrastructure works complete, he's taking them back to Highever, but has offered their skills on the way to help get Soldier's Peak habitable again."

That surprised me. Not that Alistair would fail to come through with the workers, but that another noble would offer them. "I... Really? Thank you very much!"

The Teyrn started looking a little less uncomfortable around me. "You are most welcome, Warden-Commander. I confess that I find myself most curious about this lore-filled fortress within my teyrnir. I am keen to discuss your plans for it; given its location I hope it will make a fine outpost for monitoring bandit activities or a logical stopover point for travellers between Highever and Denerim."

I smothered a grin and shook my head. "Until we get some better roads put in, or even a road put in, I doubt it will be a popular stop over point. It is an impressive fortress, but getting to it requires traversing some tunnels. Has Alistair told you about my plans for the Peak?"

Alistair rolled his eyes at Fergus' look of horror. "Informal doesn't even really begin to describe her, does it? And no, Kat, I haven't mentioned anything beyond Levi's hope to turn it into a trading post."

I decided not to mention the pair of maleficars in the tower then.

o_ooo000ooo_o


	3. A lovely day for a trip

disclaimer type=standard

Anything you recognise is Bioware's. I daresay anything else belongs to them too.

/disclaimer

o_ooo000ooo_o

"That's not the first time you've mentioned Blood Mages at Soldier's Peak. "

Kathryn smiled. "I was wondering if I was going to have to bash you over the head to get your attention. Normally just saying 'maleficar' gets you Chantry goons into a right state. I have literally seen a templar commit suicide because she couldn't have an apostate hanged."

Cassandra glared at the elf. "I am not a templar. I am not charged with the duty of hunting down maleficars and apostates. I am more interested in your meeting the Teyrn of Highever."

Kathryn raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And why is that?"

"It was the Teyrn's bloc of votes at the Landsmeet that gained you the arling."

Kathryn laughed aloud. "And you think I had some sort of hold over him, I take it?"

"Somewhere on that trip between Denerim and Highever, Fergus Cousland decided to throw his support behind you. On that same trip, the Chantry lost a powerful patron."

"Hey, don't try and put the blame for that on me! The Highever Chantry destroyed that relationship all by themselves."

Cassandra crossed her arms. "Oh? The prodigal Teyrn of Highever returned home and simply decided to remove every Sister and Priest from every position of authority within his teyrnir for no reason?"

"No reason? You- you really have no idea, do you?" Kathryn burst into laughter. "That's priceless."

Drawing a deep, calming breath, the Seeker clenched her fists and relaxed. "Tell me what I am missing," she said flatly.

"You are missing quite a bit, it would appear. Chantry Seekers delight in demanding answers from everyone; that is, everyone except Chantry Sisters and Mothers. Did you even ask the Revered Mother of Highever why Fergus was so furious with her?"

Cassandra clenched her jaw. "She reported that the Teyrn's behaviour changed on his return to Highever. That he had questions about blood magic, and took her answers poorly. She was quite emphatic in her declarations that you had either seduced or enthralled him."

Kathryn shook her head, apparently deeply amused at the accusations. "Right. It couldn't have been the way the silver candlesticks from Fergus' wedding party were prominently on display around the Chantry. There's no way it could have been that Oren's naming chalice, a gift from Maric himself, was being used in all namings at the Cathedral. Or that the tapestry decorating the Revered Mother's study used to hang in the chapel in Highever Castle."

"Your sarcasm is not helpful."

Kathryn snickered. "I've been told that before. Almost always after I employ it to show how wrong - or more commonly, how stupid - someone is. Funny that. Anyway, after slaughtering his liege lord, Howe lost no time in donating a large amount of coin and a substantial fraction of the Cousland family's valuables to the Chantry. The Revered Mother took the blood money with glee and declared Howe the Maker-blessed and rightful lord of Highever." The mage's smile grew feral. "But that's the Chantry's official stance on dealing with invaders and usurpers, isn't it? Foreigners or no. Take the money and say it's the Maker's will."

Cassandra closed her eyes and mentally cursed. The Warden's accusations rang true, the Seekers did not treat ecclesiastical interrogations with the same rigour, often taking the word of a Sister or Mother against those outside of the Chantry's walls. She herself had been guilty of such an oversight when charged with investigating the destruction of the Kirkwall Chantry - initially assuming incompetent innocence on the part of the templar order and guilt on behalf of the Champion of Kirkwall. The dwarf Varric had told her of Meredith's complicity in those disastrous events however, and his version of events fit the available evidence far more accurately. And it was true that in the past, individuals within the Chantry had been susceptible to bribery in return for political support. But it was not an official policy by any means. She spat out her retort. "It is not! The Chantry's duty is to protect its flock, above all else. Had the Revered Mother and the rest denied Howe's claim and been banished from Highever, there would have been no one to guide those left behind."

"Bullshit!" the Warden spat. "Are you that naive, or just monumentally stupid? Do you seriously believe that Howe had such a tight hold over Highever that he didn't need the priests? The Teyrn and Teyrna were as revered in their own city as the King and Queen are in Denerim. After murdering Bryce and Eleanor, Howe didn't have nearly enough men to occupy the city; there was rioting in the streets. He would have had to butcher almost every third citizen to control it, so he bought legitimacy by crossing the Revered Mother's palm with blood-stained silver. The Chantry in Highever were more concerned with getting their tithes than protecting the flock."

"The Chantry needs tithes to perform her work," Cassandra said, despite how weak the objection sounded, even to her own ears.

Kathryn shrugged. "That was bad enough, but the resistance movement set up by some of the old city and palace guards was betrayed to Howe's men by the templars. Loyal Highever citizens, people who had been born, named and married in the Chantry, were sold out for a handful of coppers each. That was what enraged Fergus."

The Seeker rubbed her forehead. This was not going well. "Even if all that were true, it does not explain why the Teyrn suddenly supported you," she said, hoping to divert the flow of the discussion. She needed some time to digest the unwelcome revelations.

"Well, no it doesn't. As a matter of fact, Fergus didn't really warm up to me for a while. He was unfailingly polite of course, but it was obvious that he had no real desire to have me as a vassal." Kathryn's eyes lost focus as she gazed upon the past. "He got even more nervous about the prospect as we travelled through Amaranthine arling. Apparently, the ability to call on the elements made him a touch nervous."

o_ooo000ooo_o

The first leg of my journey was quite sedate, limited as we were by the top speed of an ox.

Thirty men-at-arms marched in two columns, protecting the Teyrn and his brother. And, I suppose, me as well. I sat in the driver's position on the wagon with the archdemon blood and magical supplies, holding the leather straps that supposedly controlled the ox. It was the first time I'd travelled any distance by a manner other than foot. Thunder would join me on the wooden seat on occasion, though he deigned to spend most of the journey running about the countryside, rolling in mud, chasing rabbits or playing a game of tag with Aedan's mabari, Shadow. With his Grey Warden-powered size and stamina, Thunder had an obvious advantage at that game.

Aedan and his brother rode a pair of white horses, though for some reason they described them as grey. Most of the time they kept each other's company, or chatted to the Captain of their escort. The noble brothers would occasionally ride near me to enquire about my comfort. On occasion, the Teryn would fall back, leaving Aedan to ride near me. With no darkspawn nearby, and any incidental banditry dissuaded by our numbers, I was content to simply soak up the early-spring sunshine.

"You know, I was rather put out with you."

I blinked in surprise at the sudden break of companionable silence. Aedan had just blurted that statement out to the world with none of the usual lead in conversation. "Er, why?"

He grimaced at me. "You killed Howe."

"Ah. I take it you wanted that honour?"

"Oh yes. After his men sacked Castle Highever, I spent most of the following year planning revenge."

He gestured at our hounds, who had decided to have a hiatus from their play. Thunder jumped onto the wagon and sat next to me, while his playmate decided to walk along at his master's side to regain some wind. "Shadow, Mother and I made our way to Denerim. When we arrived, we found that Howe had taken over our family's estate, leaving us essentially homeless. We managed to hole up with some thieves. I spent nearly every spare moment planning my revenge." He gave a self-deprecating chuckle. "On the day you killed him, I had encouraged some workers to mass at his front gate and demand their wages. I used the distraction to do some scouting around his estate when I spotted a maid lead a group of four people dressed as guards to the rear door."

Ah. "These four you saw, they wouldn't happen to have been two elves and two humans?"

He laughed, honest and clear. "What a good guess. On reflection, one of the elves looked remarkably like you."

"Did you happen to see what befell this attractive, yet enigmatic quartet?" I asked lightly, enjoying the banter.

He shrugged. "Only one or two people came and went from the estate after that. About an hour after the four snuck in, Ser Cauthrien and two dozen or so soldiers arrived and cleared the complaining workers at the front gate. Then they entered the estate. Ten minutes later, four people snuck out the back door and Ser Cauthrien lead a captured human man and elf maiden away in the direction of Fort Drakon."

I nodded. "Yeah, Alistair and I had to surrender to ensure Anora wasn't 'accidentally' killed in the following unpleasantness." Thunder looked up at me and whined. I patted his head reassuringly. "I know you hated it, boy. But it all worked out in the end.

Aedan's face darkened. "I know a lot of people who were taken to Fort Drakon. Few of them ever saw the outside world again."

"It happens. More than it should. Anyway, once we were sure Anora was safely away, we didn't feel the need to stay. So we left."

"Oh?" he blurted, sounding surprised. "Just like that? You didn't wait for rescue?"

I grinned at him. "We weren't even in the cells long enough to get cold toes."

"I was told that your allies broke you out."

I shook my head. "Only in a technical sense. Alistair and I were stripped and dumped in a cell." I said, leaving out quite a bit of detail. I swallowed, pressing on through the sudden memory of entrails-knotting terror. "Most of the guards went off to do whatever it is they do all day when not tormenting prisoners. I called a guard on duty over and started flirting with him. Alistair took exception to that, and when the guard was within arm's reach he unloaded a punch that would have rattled a dragon's teeth. We grabbed the key and let ourselves out."

"That quickly?" He sounded unconvinced.

"Sure. I pinched the guard's mace while he wasn't in any shape to object." I chuckled at the memory. "I gave it to Alistair to use, but he looked at me and asked, 'what about you?' I just stared at him for a moment until he remembered that I can kill people with my mind. He took the mace and clubbed a couple of guards on the way out."

"You broke out of prison naked?"

"No! Only our cell. We grabbed our gear on the way out. They hadn't had time to even sort it, let alone sell it. And we didn't _break _out, we sodding well _blasted _our way out. I suppose if we had Zevran or Leliana with us we may have been able to bluff or sneak our way out, but Alistair is templar-trained and I'm a mage with a talent for the Blow-Shit-Into-Tiny-Little-Bits school of magic. We slaughtered our way from our cell to the front door to find Morrigan, Leliana and Oghren there, beating up the doormen, trying to get inside to rescue us. When they saw us they were surprised but happy." I paused, thinking about the incident. "Well, Oghren grumbled a bit because we'd deprived him of a lot of head-bashing fun, but he always complains when I end a fight quickly."

Aedan scratched his head. "Er, wow. I heard that nearly all the guards were killed in your escape, but not that you did it without help. That's... impressive." He gave me an odd expression. "Unbelievable, even."

I smiled at him. "Thank you. You know, everyone I ever met seemed to underestimate Grey Wardens. Loghain, Howe, Cauthrien, Flemeth, Uldred..." I frowned. "But not Cailan; he overestimated us badly."

"How did he die?"

"Cailan?"

He shook his head. "No. Howe."

Ah, I suppose I should have expected the question. "Not well, if that's what you mean. He died in his own dungeon, surrounded by the rotting corpses of his victims." I looked at Aedan's hungry expression, and nodded my assent. "Very well. You know that there were four of us. Zevran, a former Antivan Crow, Leliana, a Chantry sister trained by an Orlesian Bard, Alistair and myself."

"An eclectic mix."

I laughed out loud. "You have no idea. Anyway, I'd better start with some background. Anora's maid had come to Eamon's estate with an absolute tear-jerker of a sob story, about the Queen being held captive by Howe, and that the Arl was planning to kill her and pin the blame on Eamon and the Wardens."

Aedan flushed. "That snake!"

I snorted. "Don't believe a word of it. Erlina," I caught a look of ignorance on Aedan's face, "um, that's Anora's maid, had made this impassioned plea. Eamon of course swallowed it whole; he _wanted_ to believe it was true. Me? I just asked her where she'd received her bard training."

"No!"

I grinned. "Oh yes. You could almost see her mentally change direction. She went from a heartfelt plea for assistance from gullible marks to bursting into tears and babbling surety that her Mistress would not live the day out. I wanted to applaud."

"It was an act?"

"Of course it was! But Eamon bought it - I think he's a sucker for pretty girls with Orlesian accents. He insisted that I go and rescue the Queen. I was sure it was a trap, so I insisted on taking Alistair along with me."

"Er, why? That made no sense."

I shrugged. "Incentive. That is, to give Eamon the incentive to act when he finally realised it was a trap." I looked at his expression. "You have to understand Eamon's mindset. He was focused, to the exclusion of all else, on getting Alistair on the throne. He thought it was Ferelden's best chance at uniting to face the Blight. In terms of crowning Alistair, I was an expendable asset. Alistair was not."

"Well, obviously."

I winked at him. "Indeed. Well, I didn't want to spring such an obvious trap, but Eamon was most insistent. So by taking Alistair with me over his objections, and believe me, object he most certainly did, it ensured he wouldn't hold back resources if we needed rescuing. Resources he would have held back, had it just been me."

"So it was a trap?"

I nodded. "Oh yes, just not one set by Howe. Anora had decided that Howe's influence over her father had become intolerable, and that the Grey Wardens were a divisive force in Ferelden at a time that desperately needed unity. So she surrendered herself to Howe and sent her maid to the Wardens to let them know her life was in danger and that we were going to be blamed for the deed."

Aedan's eyes were wide. "You mean... it was the Queen's trap?"

"Yup. She figured that by setting up a confrontation between the Wardens and Howe, she'd rid her country of at least one, perhaps even two negative influences. Or at the very least, severely weaken both."

He digested this for a moment or two. "I didn't realise that she was so cold; so clinical."

"That's quite a diplomatic description of Anora. Anyway, once Erlina led us to the estate, we slipped in and made our way around to where the Queen was being held without spilling blood or cracking skulls. We managed that quite easily. But, surprise, surprise, Howe had somehow decided in the hour or so Erlina was gone to increase the security on the Queen. He had a mage cast a barrier spell over her door. So instead of the nice, easy rescue operation we had planned, we had to confront Howe and his mage in order to release her." I laughed. "Erlina almost came out of character in frustration when I flat out asked what the script called for me to do next."

Aedan joined me laughing at that.

"She was livid that I was just following her directions out of morbid curiosity and not because I believed it, but like a true professional, she managed to keep the performance going. We made our way to Howe's bedchamber. Believe it or not, he had an entrance to the dungeons right there in his room. He was one seriously messed up fellow."

"I'd believe it," Aedan muttered.

"We went down and found another Grey Warden held captive. It only took us distracting the guard for him to escape on his own. Riordan gave us a few crumbs of information and left us to the task at hand."

"He didn't help you?"

I shrugged. "He had been Howe's captive for a few weeks. I didn't hold it against him for escaping when he could. We killed a lot of Howe's men, and freed a lot of prisoners. Howe had even kept the relatives of nobles down there as bargaining chips. I found Bann Sighard's son Oswyn, the old Arl of Denerim's son Vaughan and Bann Alfstanna's brother."

Aedan frowned. "Vaughan is dead."

I took a slow breath to keep my heart from beating too hard. "Yes, he was dead when we found him," I lied. Continuing quickly, I said, "But they weren't the only ones down there. There was an elf that had been there for a year simply because he protested against his bride being kidnapped by some nobles for sport on their wedding day."

"Howe deserved to die a slow death," Aedan growled.

"You won't find me disagreeing there. We finally ran into Howe and his pet mages. He was all puffed up, claiming that we had finally fallen into his hands after ruining all his plans. As though allowing us to kill every other guard in the place was part of his genius."

Aedan frowned. "That doesn't sound like the Rendon Howe I knew," he said slowly.

"Yeah, I believe that. I think it was at that point that I realised that he was quite mad. I don't mean obsessed, or blindly driven, but actually deranged. Anyway, after some of the traditional, pre-slaughter banter, I took on his two pet mages while Alistair engaged Howe. Leliana and Zevran stood watch to make sure we weren't interrupted. They understood that it was a fight for just the Wardens."

"Howe was an accomplished duellist of over thirty years. He can't have been so easy to defeat."

I shrugged. "Alistair is quite a bit more than simply accomplished. He didn't have much difficulty. Especially not after I started using some of my more painful curses on Howe. It only took me a couple of spells to turn his pathetic mages into pinkish, greasy smears on the walls." I shook my head with a soft snort. "Do you want to know what his last words were?"

Aedan considered this and nodded.

"Maker spit on you. I deserved more."

He shook his head. "I want to curse you for taking my revenge away from me, but I'm just not sure I could have managed it. Thank you."

I turned to face him. "Can I ask how you escaped him? At Highever, I mean."

Aedan's face went as hard as granite. "Maybe another time. I... I don't like to talk about it."

I recognised reticence that grew from guilt. I nodded. "As you wish."

o_ooo000ooo_o

At the first night of camp, I settled into my tent after a meal of hot but bland trail rations. It felt odd but welcome to travel in so large a party that I wasn't needed to stand a watch. I was almost asleep when my ears picked out the Cousland brothers conversing in hushed whispers.

"So, what do you think of her?" Fergus asked.

"The Warden-Commander? I think she's an accomplished liar with woeful manners."

I clenched my hands into fists under my blanket. Aedan thought I was a liar? I had only directly lied about finding Vaughan dead. Sure I'd left things out, but deliberate omissions were hardly lies. I pushed the blanket aside and silently willed my body to assume the form of a mabari. Once I was 'wearing my fur coat', as Alistair once described it, the voices were much clearer, even if the noises from the rest of the camp were intruding.

"Oh? You were speaking to her for a long time today. What did she claim?"

Aedan gave a snort of distaste. "She claimed that she and His Majesty managed to break out of Fork Drakon all by themselves, that they weren't rescued." There was a pause. "What? What is it?"

My elvish ears would not have made out Fergus' whispered reply. "She wasn't lying."

"What?" Aedan's voice was much louder. "I spoke with Eamon. He said that when Anora came back alone, the Warden's companions went off to rescue them."

Wonderful, I thought. Wake the whole camp with your private conversation, why don't you?

"Keep your voice down," Fergus hissed. "And they did. That's the official story. His Majesty didn't want it getting out that he personally killed guards employed by the city. Better for people to believe that he was rescued."

"It's true then? They weren't rescued?"

"You met Oghren, that insane dwarf berserker, right?" There was a pause, presumably filled by Aedan nodding at his brother. "Right, well, his patrol arrived back in Denerim a few nights ago when Their Majesties, Eamon, Teagan and I were sitting up discussing some politics. We got drunk and started trading stories after the Queen retired. The King told me about how he and the Warden-Commander surrendered to allow the Queen to escape from Howe's estate. They were arrested and taken to Fort Drakon, where the Warden-Commander was tortured and raped. She was dumped naked in the cell with the King, and once she regained consciousness, they broke out."

I whined in my canine form. Alistair had made some pretty big assumptions about exactly what had happened before I was deposited back in the cell with him, inflated by his imagination, and fuelled by his inability to prevent it. Not to mention my reluctance to speak of it. The guards had certainly tried to rape me after binding my hands, but instead chose to beat me into a pulp after I let uncontrolled bursts of magic electrocute the first two of their number to take liberties with my person.

Aedan coughed. "She left that part out."

"I'm not surprised. She's never told anyone exactly what happened, but His Majesty described her as being quite... thorough when confronting a couple of specific guards. Oghren then told the story from his perspective. He led the rest of the Warden-Commander's companions to break them out. He, the wilder witch and the bard-trained sister fought their way in through the front door while the others used the distraction to try and find another way in. They were subduing the guards in the antechamber when the inner doors opened. They expected to be rushed by more guards, but instead, out stomped His Majesty and the Warden, drenched in blood and looking angry enough to chew steel and spit nails. Behind them the whole of Fort Drakon was filled with corpses."

"I- I don't-"

I was glad of my new form; it allowed me to laugh without a sound. Oghren's story sounded far more dramatic the way Fergus told it than what actually happened.

"Believe it brother. As warriors, Grey Wardens are unsurpassed in Thedas. Just the two of them managed to break out of the most secure prison on this side of the country. They travelled with a Qunari Sten during the Blight, and apparently he said that he had no wish to face her on the battlefield; this from a seven-foot tall seasoned warrior."

"She's a mage! I wouldn't want to face her without an army either."

"A mage who is just over a year out of her apprenticeship. A year, pup. I spoke with the First Enchanter a few days after he helped her kill the archdemon. He said that mages less than five years out of their apprenticeship are not considered for the rank of Enchanter, and it takes a further fifteen years to be considered for the rank of Senior Enchanter." There was a pause. "Irving told me the Warden-Commander outstrips almost every Senior Enchanter in the Ferelden Circle both in terms of raw power and spell knowledge. In a few more years, she'll be all but unstoppable. Even the Tevinters have taken note; Eamon says that their ambassador is a lot more polite whenever she is in the Palace. More nervous too."

I didn't know that. Interesting. I'd have to go and visit the Tevinter ambassador when I got back to Denerim. It might be fun to terrify a diplomat.

There was a moment of silence between the pair. "Are you going to support her appointment as Arlessa? Politically, it's bad enough that she's an elf, let alone a mage, but for someone with disgraceful manners and command over that much power to also be made Arlessa..."

"I don't know. I can't see how it would be to my benefit to do so. I'd face a revolt from my own Banns, and I can't imagine how her own vassals would take to being made to bow to an elf and a mage. But Their Majesties have a plan that they are keeping secret; I presume they intend to spring them on the Landsmeet and have a vote without a drawn-out debate. But you're right, I still can't imagine how they are going to get around the problems with her race, manner and profession. Mind you, if she were loyal..."

Aedan chuckled, a deep, genuine sound. "She'd be the only ally you'd ever need; you could probably disband most of your armed forces." There was another, longer pause before Aedan continued. "You realise that if she is made Arlessa, it could well tear the country apart. The nobles would scream at an elf taking a place they rightfully see as belonging to one of their own. And the Chantry will fight it; the idea of a mage as nobility would be just the thing to get rumours of an Exalted March going."

"Most of the Banns are too focused on short term gain and prestige; if His Majesty gives them something they value in return, I could well imagine them agreeing to it. And from what father's agents have reported to me, if the Chantry forced the issue, they might find themselves without as much support as they expect; at least in the short term."

"You're not serious!"

"Deadly. When the Grand Cleric barred the doors to the cathedral she destroyed more than the families of those who died seeking refuge. She shook the people's faith in the Chantry."

Wasn't that the truth, I thought. My tongue lolled at the memory of shocked templars getting pelted with midden dirt by the general population in the days following the archdemon's defeat.

"Do you seriously think that will make a difference? In a few months people will start to go back to fearing mages again."

"That is exactly why the Crown is pressing ahead with their reforms now. Arl Eamon's only child is a mage, and His Majesty spent over a year side by side with three, successfully battling the Blight. And there are rumours that the pair were closer than comrades. Pup, I know Aldous' lessons would often send you to sleep, but you need to start living and breathing politics, both local and international. As the second son of a Teyrn, the best prospect you could hope for would to be married off to some Bann or Arl's only daughter and made his heir, but the Blight has changed things for everyone."

Aedan grumbled something even my canine ears could not catch over the sounds of the camp.

"Pup, listen, this is important. There is no Arl of Denerim. Officially, there is no Arl of Amaranthine. With Loghain's death, the Queen is currently the Teyrna of Gwaren, and she will not be permitted to keep both Gwaren _and _her Crown. That leaves a mighty big chunk of Ferelden without a lord. I and many other nobles have lost heirs to Howe's treachery or to the darkspawn. You and I are the most eligible bachelors in the country. His Majesty will need us to marry soon for the political stability it will provide."

"So I'm supposed to just whore myself out for the King's pleasure?"

"Don't be obscene. I'm still mourning Orianna and Oren, so I may well hate the idea even more than you. But we who carry the Cousland name do our duty first and foremost."

"So father always said."

"It's not as though you'll be unrewarded. The King needs us far more than we need him. If you let him select your wife, he'll probably name you Teyrn of Gwaren. Having both Teyrns of Ferelden as strong allies would do more for stability than anything short of winding back the Blight."

Aedan laughed softly. "Can you imagine father's face if you'd told him two years ago that his sons would end up being both the Teyrns in Ferelden?"

Fergus laughed too. "All too easily." He sighed. "The world has gone crazy, hasn't it? The son of a serving wench is on the throne, married to the daughter of a common-born noble, I may get a powerful elven mage as a vassal, and you may well end up gifted the second largest holding in the country."

"Imagine how crazy things would have been had father allowed Duncan to conscript me."

WHAT! I let out an involuntary yelp of surprise.

Over the noise of my panting breath I heard Fergus laugh. "Who knows? You might have been made Warden-Commander instead, and all this politicking would not be necessary. You could have been named Amaranthine's Arl without any problems."

"Or everyone in Ferelden could all be dead with darkspawn overrunning the country. I thought I was good in a fight; I've won every tourney I've entered since I was of age. Don't forget, you haven't been able to get the better of me since I was twelve."

"I beat you that one time when you were fourteen."

"I had a broken wrist! I could only use one blade!"

"It still counts."

Aedan grunted under his breath. "Anyway, I sparred with our new King a few times, and I didn't even come close to touching him. Maker's breath, I've never seen someone in armour move so perfectly. He could probably have carved his name into my clothes without scratching my skin. And despite her being a mage, the Warden-Commander seems quite comfortable wearing armour and carrying a sword. I don't think I could have done half so well as she."

"Don't sell yourself short, pup. Who knows where the Grey Wardens get their power? The King was trained as a templar before he was recruited, and I had a couple of father's agents look into his past. Those who knew him at the Chantry said he had impressive discipline, but only average martial skill, though his swordsmaster did say he had great potential."

That wasn't the first reference to their father's agents. I wondered just how extensive the Cousland's network was. It can't have been too good, or at least prone to infiltration, given Howe managed to almost wipe the family out.

There was silence for a long while. Eventually, Aedan said, "If Duncan had recruited me, Mother wouldn't have died in a damned gutter."

Fergus sighed. "Pup, she'd have died six months earlier when Howe's men sacked the castle."

"At least she would have died a noble."

"You don't think knowing that both her sons survived Howe's treachery was worth six months of deprivation?"

Aedan's voice grew in both volume and anger. "Don't. Just... don't. I'm turning in."

"Pup, wait."

"No! You didn't see her die, Fergus. She just... wasted away. She starved to death because _I _couldn't scrounge up enough food to go around."

A short pause. "I'm so sorry, pup. I wish I could have been there to help."

"Well, the Chasind aren't exactly renowned for their healing skills. I will be forever grateful that they found you in time to save your life. But don't try and tell me that anything was worth the last six months of Mother's life. Good night, brother."

"Good night, Aedan."

I reversed the shapeshifting spell, rolled myself back into my blankets and considered what I'd heard. It seemed that there was more to these nobles than I assumed.

o_ooo000ooo_o

Sometime during the night, my canine friend entered my tent and woke me in his emergency manner, by touching his cold, wet nose to the skin behind my ear. Guaranteed to rouse me from the deepest sleep, without alerting anyone outside my tent to the fact that I was awake. With a jerk, I was alert, blinking the remains of sleep from my eyes. A low growl emanated from Thunder's throat. Immediately, I felt a familiar, unwelcome sensation. I tossed the covers off and crawled out of my tent. "Alert the camp!" I shouted, rising to my feet. "Alert the camp!" The brisk air touched the exposed skin on my arms and legs, giving me gooseflesh.

Soft curses and crashes indicated a general transition to wakefulness.

"Warden-Commander? What is it?" one of the sentries queried.

"Darkspawn approaching," I called out tersely, getting my bearings. "From that way; er, the south. Arm yourselves."

That little announcement sped up movement around the camp. A large number of men grabbed weapons and stood waiting for orders in just their smallclothes. One poor chap looked as though he'd been interrupted in the middle of a midnight shit; he hopped past stark naked with a sword in one hand, trying to tug a set of twisted smallclothes past his knees with the other. Captain Francois and his sergeant barked orders, getting everyone as ready as possible when suddenly woken in the middle of the night.

Fergus and Aedan rushed over to me, the Teyrn in a linen shirt and holding his sword, his brother carrying a shortbow and a handful of arrows, wearing only a pair of loose short pants. The base part of my mind admired his form in the dim light. "Are you sure?" they asked in unison.

I nodded, trying to concentrate on the darkspawn rather than on Aedan's chest. "A small band, thirty; maybe thirty-five."

Fergus blinked. "Thirty!"

"Yes. I think there's an ogre in the group, you'd best leave neutralising that one to me and Thunder." I raised my voice, addressing the camp. "Listen up! Soldiers! Form up behind the palisades on the south side of camp, those in armour and those with shields in front, those without at the second rank. Grab a bow if you can. Darkspawn do not back down or retreat, and will attack in one wave. I'll thin their numbers. Kill any that get close quickly." No one argued; everyone could hear the approaching band, grunting and squealing. "Workmen! Take cover behind the wagons and get a hold of the animals. Keep them as calm as you can."

Fergus joined the ranks of soldiers over the strained objections of Captain Francois. Aedan positioned himself next to me, knelt on one knee and pushed his arrows point first into the earth. "Nothing to hang my quiver on, and picking them up flat off the ground is too time-consuming," he explained a bit sheepishly. Shadow, his mabari, crouched at his side, hackles raised, silent and ready to spring.

I smiled, and took a deep breath. Thunder would already be out there, ready for my commands. Summoning my magic, I cast a spell that would amplify the power of my subsequent magic use at the cost of drawing more heavily on my mana reserves. Aedan's eyes widened at the blue mist that wafted from my body.

"Hold steady," I shouted, conjuring a couple of spell wisps to add more light to the camp; I was travelling with humans, after all. In the dim light beyond the range of my magic, shapes could be seen charging towards us. I raised my arms and chanted, drawing on the elemental power opposite to fire. The _polar _opposite, as it were.

I placed a localised blizzard as far past the fortification line of stakes as I could. Howls of rage echoed across the field as the darkspawn tried charging straight through the magical cold, with very limited success.

I raised my arms again and began calling on elemental lightning. In practice, casting magic in the tower was much different from casting it outdoors. We never cast two powerful area spells in the same place; templars always cleared residual magic in between our practice casting sessions. Spells could have unpredictable effects when combined; some spell combinations nullified the effects of both, but others _magnified_.

I stumbled upon a particular combination when fighting Flemeth. I had always shown caution when spellcasting, as I'd been trained. But fighting her in dragon form had been so much of a surprise that I broke my conditioning and cast spells on top of one another. The result was quite breathtaking.

As it had in the Korcari wilds, elemental magic exploded into a powerful storm, literally wiping entire lines of approaching darkspawn away. Most of the men-at-arms balked at the display, many praying aloud. Aedan himself simply whispered, "Andraste's tits!"

A group of hurlocks lumbered around the edge of the malestrom. Waving their weapons above their head, they charged the lines. One was comically ended by his own side, tripping after being shoved aside by his allies. He fell forward and was impaled on the sharpened stakes lining the camp. But the rest made it almost to the soldiers before I scattered them with a fireball.

A small volley of darkspawn arrows arced through the storm into our lines. Raised shields caught some, but a few hit a mark. A quick glance showed no one with life-threatening injuries. I turned my gaze back to the battlefield, and the small group of _hurlock flambé_.

A roar from the middle of the spellstorm drew my attention, and I watched a massive ogre stumble through the storm, screaming in spittle-laced rage. Ignoring the hurlocks, I called out to my hound. "Thunder! Hamstring and clear!"

My mabari appeared out of nowhere, hitting the wounded ogre from the left. He tore out a chunk of the back of the beast's thigh, sending it tumbling forward on one knee. Thunder bolted away from the ogre and towards the three hurlocks, his task complete.

I cast a spell, petrifying the crippled ogre in place. There, it was a better target now. "Archers! Target the ogre! Loose!"

More than a dozen arrows shot out at the large target, the majority finding their mark. Aedan's first and second arrows struck the creature in the neck; a fine pair of shots given the circumstances. I cast one more spell, hurling a bolt of lightning at the ogre. The sizzling energy burned a hole through the beast's chest.

It slowly toppled over to one side.

A war cry and clash of metal on metal echoed across the camp. Two smouldering hurlocks were butchered by the front lines of soldiers, the third already down to Thunder's jaws.

Comparative silence descended. My magical storm still raged, and the men struck by darkspawn arrows and blades still cried out in pain, but there was no inhuman growling. I sensed no more darkspawn out there. I wouldn't need a lyrium potion boost.

I flicked my hands, ending the power-enhancing spell. "That's it, gentlemen. Let's see to the wounded."

o_ooo000ooo_o

Two men had been slashed by swords, and those injuries were quickly set to rights. Most of the arrow wounds were superficial, lodging in arms and shoulders. A couple of men had their shields pinned to their forearms. One soldier had turned away from an arrow, and it had gone through his bicep and into the side of his chest, pinning the arm to his body. Thanks to Wynne's tuition, my healing skill was enough to keep him alive as the arrow was extracted, even through his distracting cries. Once that gory task was complete, I stabilised and bandaged him up. Once that task was done, I spent a few minutes healing the other minor wounds.

I couldn't sense any corruption within the healed wounds, but I'd check again once the sun rose. I'd need to collect and preserve some blood on the chance one of the soldiers was infected with the taint. I didn't want to put anyone through the Joining unless I absolutely had to, but being part of a bankrupt order was probably better than being dead.

"I'm beginning to think that the stories of your skill are not exaggerations."

I turned to see Fergus looking at me with his arms crossed on his chest. "What stories are those?"

"Oh, just those that say you can kill a hundred darkspawn at a time. With spells like that at your command, it's likely an underestimation," he said, jerking his head out towards the south.

I took in his defensive posture - crossed arms, feet wide apart. Where was this going? "I'd better go take care of the darkspawn corpses. I need to incinerate them. Why don't you come along and tell me what the problem is."

I turned without waiting for his response and made my way over to my tent.

"The Captain can have the bodies cleared, I need to speak with you. Privately."

I pulled on a robe over my sleeping shift and grabbed my crafting equipment case from the tent. "With all due respect, leave the darkspawn bodies to me. I won't get infected by the taint, anyone else who handles them may." I put my fingers to my mouth and gave a shrill whistle.

He swallowed, but nodded. "Very well. I'll escort you out there."

I raised an eyebrow at the phrasing, but let it slide. "Let me put some shoes on." Thunder trotted up to us and sat down.

Once that little job was taken care of, I stomped out into the moon-lit killing field with my case in one hand and my mabari at my side. Fergus followed, a little more carefully, his human eyes not as effective in the dark as mine. I pulled the hurlock off the stake and helped Thunder drag him over to the ogre. If there was going to be a pyre, it would have to be around the big bastard. I wasn't going to try and drag a half-ton corpse around.

Fergus, after a couple of false starts, finally got out what was bothering him. "Can every mage do that?"

Ah, that's what it was about. "Cast that big storm spell, you mean? No," I answered.

"Oh?" He sounded relieved. "How many can?"

"I'm not really sure - mages who could cast it may not know they can." I scratched my head. "That made no sense. Sorry. Let me try and explain. Mages who know the spells and have the raw ability still may not know how to. It's a combination of three spells that need deep, personal reserves of power to pull off. Maybe a quarter of the Enchanters in the tower can cast all three spells, and most of them would have the inner reserves to do so, but I don't think any of them actually _know _about that particular combination. I only stumbled across it by accident."

"Oh. I see."

I debated collecting a couple of vials of blood in front of the Teyrn. If I was going to get some, it needed to be soon. I decided to wait in the hope I'd get a little more privacy. People got funny ideas when they saw you collecting blood from corpses. They tended to jump to all sorts of conclusions. I grabbed another hurlock by the arm and dragged it over. "If there's something you'd like to say, just say it. I promise I won't be offended."

Fergus cleared his throat. "I just... one person shouldn't have that much power!"

"Oh?" I said. "Why not? You do."

He was taken aback by my response. "What? I do not!"

"You most certainly do. You could order every one of those men back there to their deaths. You could have any man disobeying your orders hanged. You have far more power over the lives of those within your teyrnir than I ever would."

"I wouldn't do that! Even if I were of that mind, there are repercussions that I would face."

I looked at him in the eye. "Right. The old Arl of Denerim's son Vaughan had a habit of taking some of his drinking buddies into the Denerim Alienage and forcibly taking some elven women for sport. He did that in front of a Chantry priest. There were no repercussions on him for those actions, and he wasn't a Teyrn, merely a Bann. If I was to turn my magic upon subjects of the Ferelden crown, I suspect the repercussions on me would be of the more terminal variety."

"You just destroyed thirty darkspawn with a handful of spells! It would take an army to visit retribution on you!"

I shook my head, though he probably couldn't see it in the darkness. "Nope. It takes only one templar-trained warrior to send a mage into a magically drained stupor," I said, hoping Alistair hadn't told him otherwise. "Why do you think the Chantry keeps such tight control of mages? They're officially the only ones who can reign a rogue mage in."

He took a deep breath. "I suppose that's true. Maker's breath. I'm sorry, your spell just left me feeling... I've never seen anything like that before. You could bring down a fortress with that spell."

I laughed. "Not quite, I know a better spell to do that. And I'd be surprised if you had seen a spell like it. I sometimes wonder what other weird and wonderful magical effects are out there, waiting to be discovered by the unwary or curious mage."

Fergus paused, not joining in my laughter. "That's not encouraging. Surely mages have done research on such things?"

"Not really. Well, not formally, anyway. In the tower, we mostly study the theory behind casting spells. Practical spellcasting is tightly controlled, and the templars on duty will smother a spell long before you had a chance to combine it with a second. That's not to say that some spell combinations are not documented. For obvious reasons, a spell that puts grease on the ground shouldn't be combined with any fire, magical or mundane."

The Teryn nodded slowly, still not mollified. "I see." He looked back towards the camp. "I need to think about this. Will you need assistance?"

"No thank you. Better I do this myself."

He nodded and wandered back. I knelt in front of the ogre and collected some vials of dark, thick blood.

o_ooo000ooo_o

A/N: My thanks to my first reviewer, SgtGinger. You have a special place in my heart.


	4. A noble journey

disclaimer type=standard

Anything you recognise is Bioware's. I daresay anything else belongs to them too.

/disclaimer

o_ooo000ooo_o

Cassandra touched her fist to her chin, deep in thought. "It sounds like Teyrn Fergus did not take to you at all."

A nod. "True. As I said before, he was terrified of me, or at least of my magic, for a long time."

A light knock sounded from the cell door. Tentatively, the heavy, steel-bound door swung outwards slightly and a helmeted head leaned through the gap. "I have the board you requested, Warden."

Cassandra glared at the guard for a second, before turning a curious gaze on the elf. "Board?" she asked. "What board?"

The Warden shrugged, rose to her feet and accepted the heavy stone slab from the guard. "A chessboard. A way to while away the tedious hours while incarcerated. I do hope you don't mind."

The Seeker ground her teeth together. An interrogation had a flow, a natural timing, and the Warden's story was flowing nicely indeed. She did not need such a distraction. "Do you intend to play both sides yourself?" she asked, a little nastily.

Kathryn dumped the stone slab on the table, which shook slightly under the sudden weight. "No. I've met someone who used to do that. I never could understand why." She dragged the desk out from the wall, and seated herself on one side. She drew open a drawer on one side of the stone board, and took out a pair of velvet bags. From these, she extracted intricately carved stone game pieces, and assembled the board. "Sit, please."

With a smothered sigh of irritation, Cassandra sat down on the opposite chair, the leather portions of her armour squeaking and rubbing audibly against the metallic parts.

Kathryn smiled at her, and twisted the board so that the quartz pieces were in front of Cassandra, and the onyx pieces in front of her.

Cassandra looked down at the board. First move to her. She looked back up at the Warden, whose eyes were filled with mirth. "How very subtle, Warden," she said sourly.

Kathryn gave her a chuckle. "Of all my companions over the years, only Leliana would have understood that."

"You don't give Teyrn Loghain that much credit?"

The Warden shook her head. "Loghain never really took to chess. He told me he considered the game too limited when compared to reality, but that Cauthrien played well. He'd probably have preferred to convince all the footmen to rush the enemy at once."

"True military strategists place great value on the game."

Another dismissive snort. "And they all make the same mistake - confusing the ability to plan and execute a battle with leadership. Orlais has military commanders who are masters of the game, yet not one of them could stand against an army led by a single truly great _leader_."

Cassandra paused, considering the distinction. "Do you consider yourself a great leader?"

Kathryn gave a small shrug. "A good one, perhaps. I kept my company together and alive through the Blight, with only that one, unavoidable exception. I lead from the front, rather than the rear, and I trust my people to do their jobs. That alone earned me deep loyalty from many. But I have only ever directly led relatively small numbers. So, a good Captain perhaps."

The Seeker shook her head disbelievingly. "You took a force of five hundred and slaughtered your way through over fifty times that number on your way to Val Royeaux!"

Kathryn gave her a look. "No, they were more of an escort for me while I did the killing. It's your move."

Cassandra stared at the elf for a long while, before reaching out and moving her King's footman a couple of squares forward. "What happened the day after the darkspawn attack?"

The Warden moved her own King's footman forward two squares, blocking her opponent's, and replied, "I tidied up."

Cassandra waited patiently, until it became clear that the story would only progress if she continued the game. She huffed under her breath, but moved her King's Chevalier to threaten the Warden's in-play piece. "And then?"

Without hesitation, the Warden moved her own King's Chevalier to defend her footman. "The camp broke down, and we shifted out. Nothing special."

The Seeker's lips curled slightly, but she pushed her King's Cleric diagonally along the board, letting it threaten the Warden's rear line of unmoved footmen. "This is becoming tedious," she growled.

Kathryn looked down at the board, and nodded with satisfaction. "The Antivan Game; an unsurprising opening, given what I know of you. Classical, aggressive, and it usually warrants defensive play by black." She looked up at the Seeker, mirth evident in her elvish features. "However, the style of play which actually gives the highest chance for a black victory is a vigorous counter-attack. Oh, and we continued onto Soldier's Peak, of course."

o_ooo000ooo_o

I rose well before sunrise the next morning. Like most of the other soldiers in camp, I had trouble getting back to sleep after the night's excitement. I unpacked my archdemon scale armour. If there were lingering darkspawn groups around, I wanted to be a little more protected than in just a robe, despite how much more uncomfortable it was.

It was annoying to dress in armour without assistance, some of the straps and buckles were in particularly inconvenient places. But I managed to struggle into the beautiful armour and stuff my robe and nightshirt into my pack. I took down my tent, noting that even as early as it was, my tent was one of the last standing.

I deactivated the protective runes I'd set around my wagon and dropped my travelling pack on top of the boxes. A disgusting miasma of greasy darkspawn ash lingered in the chill, still morning air, the remnants of my bonfire last night. It coated the tongue and made you want to spit. Unsurprisingly, few soldiers had any appetite. Captain Francois declared that we would break our fast at a village a mile or so away. A pair of guards were sent off to give notice to whatever inn or tavern was available that four dozen people needed feeding.

Around the camp's edge, soldiers were dismantling the temporary fortifications, packing them for transport. The wooden stakes that had darkspawn blood on them needed to be burned, but for the most part, the defences could be reused at our next camp.

Thunder jumped up on the driver's seat and gave me a whine of impatience. He patted the seat thrice with his front paw.

"I know boy, I want to get out of here too. But we have to wait until the soldiers are ready."

Thunder grumbled like an adolescent who'd just been told he had to wait to go to town. He flopped down on his belly, taking up the entire seat and more, his haunch spilling off the edge. He crossed his front paws and lay his head down upon them, giving off an air of extreme annoyance.

I snickered at the human-like attitude he was developing, and finished loading my tent and poles on the wagon. I left Thunder to his sulking and strolled out past the edge of camp, making sure there weren't any darkspawn remains that required immolation.

In the grey, pre-dawn light I fossicked about in the scorched earth looking for any valuables I missed in the dark. There were a few scorched coins and a nice gold necklace. Well, it would be nice once I scrubbed the crusted remains of time and decay from the thin chain. It was a puzzle; why did darkspawn collect valuables? As far as anyone knew, they were mindless. Did they trade with each other? Or could ghouls, the poor souls corrupted by the taint, actually transform into darkspawn under certain conditions? That was a possibility - they may retain their valuables simply because they had no reason to drop them once turned.

I pocketed my finds and scrubbed at the blackened earth with the toe of my armoured boot. Beneath the scorched layer, the dirt didn't seem corrupted. This area should be safe for those who would come and camp here later.

Captain Francois' orders were obeyed with alacrity, and it was only perhaps half an hour later that we were on our way. Thunder's mood improved in line with how much distance we put between us and the stink of burned darkspawn. Eventually, I got an earful of grateful, slobber-covered tongue, and he jumped off the wagon to run with his smaller friend.

Breakfast was a much more cheerful affair, the village tavern-keeper delighted to accept Fergus' note. He put on a plain, but hot and plentiful spread - eggs, fresh bread, butter and the cold, roasted remains of half a side of beef, washed down with ale. We lingered to mid-morning before setting off again.

A few hours after we'd left the village behind, Aedan rode closer to my wagon. He looked as though he was working up the courage to say something.

"Spit it out, I won't bite," I said with a smile.

He looked at me a little abashed. "Am I that transparent?"

I shrugged. "You've ridden your horse close to my wagon a few times this morning, but always trotted away before saying anything. I figured you'd speak once you'd rehearsed your lines a few more times."

He laughed nervously. "Yeah, I suppose I have. I, er, I wanted to apologise. I didn't believe you when you told me that you escaped from Fort Drakon without help. Arl Eamon told me the 'official' version, but my brother let me know what really happened at camp last night."

I nodded, staying silent.

"And, well, after your spell-work against the darkspawn, I can easily believe that you could break out of that prison."

"Mmmhmm," I murmured. "Nothing like seeing a localised storm kill dozens of your enemies to restore your faith. I take it you've never seen a mage in action?"

He shook his head. "I've helped an apostate healer deliver a baby, but no, I've never been close to a mage in battle. Not up close, at least; I watched you and the other mages kill the archdemon from across the city. The green lights, lightning, columns of fire and blizzards on the top of the tower all looked eerily pretty from a long way away." He grimaced. "I suppose it looked a lot deadlier from up close."

I chuckled. "Yes, it did indeed. It was a right bugger to kill, the archdemon. I'm just glad we got some experience in dragon-slaying beforehand."

He looked impressed. "The archdemon wasn't your first dragon kill?"

I shook my head. "Nope. Not by a long way. Besides the dozens of smaller dragonkin, we killed a High Dragon in the Frostback Mountains. It was the focus of a cult that fancied it Andraste reborn. And then there was a witch in the Korcari Wilds that could turn into a High Dragon."

Aedan shook his head. "I can't believe that we thought the dragons extinct."

I nodded with a hum of agreement. "It's the Dragon Age. Perhaps naming it thus was a true prophecy, that we'd see an archdemon and have a Blight."

Aedan shivered. "If that's true, I really, really hope that it meant we'd only have one Blight. There's almost seventy years left in Dragon Age."

I barked a laugh. "That's true. I wonder-" I broke off, glancing around.

"What is it?"

"Darkspawn," I replied. "Only a couple though."

"Can you tell where they are?"

I closed my eyes and concentrated. "Not really, I've not really been a Warden long enough to... wait, they're gone."

That surprised him. "They ran away? I didn't think darkspawn ran away from anything."

"They don't," I said warily, looking around. I could no longer sense them at all, but I was certain I'd felt them nearby.

A couple of barks sounded across the farmland, and our hounds raced over, bounding happily. I spotted the dark stains around their mouths first.

"Ah, I see Shadow and Thunder have been busy. Looks like they took the darkspawn down themselves."

"What?" Aedan gasped. "Shadow! Did you kill a darkspawn?"

"Whuff!" the midnight-black mabari confirmed, jumping around in an excited circle and looking very pleased with himself.

I laughed, but pulled back on the thin reins, slowing the ox to a stop. "I'd best go and make another bonfire. Thunder, guard the wagon, boy. Aedan, could you get Shadow to lead me to the corpses?"

"I'll come with you. I'd like to see his kill for myself. Come on Shadow."

It turned out to be a pair of hurlocks - well, a pair of hurlocks with no throats. Besides their rusty maces, between them they only had one silver and a handful of coppers. Shadow walked over to one of them and put his front paws on the foul thing's chest before giving us a bark of possession.

"I take it that was the one you felled, old friend," Aedan said cheerfully. "Well done!"

"Whuff!"

I chuckled to myself. I'd seen, and regretfully fought, many mabari that did not exhibit much in the way of intelligence, but Shadow was definitely in the same league as Thunder. "Well, our dogs have earned one silver and seven coppers worth of treats at the next village, it seems." This was greeted with an enthusiastic bark and a series of grateful licks.

I wiped the slobber from my face, waved Aedan's offered assistance away and rolled the hurlocks together. I reached my hands out and summoned elemental fire, scorching the unholy creatures until they were burning on their own.

"That is a very useful skill," Aedan remarked.

I nodded. "Yeah, the army now carries around barrels of pitch, or flasks of naphtha to help start fires to burn the corpses, but magic is so much easier. It's no wonder Alistair is courting apostate mages, offering them amnesty in return for service."

I found chatting to the younger Cousland much easier than his brother. We bantered our way back to the wagons and set off again at the steady pace of an ox.

Over the next week, we encountered small groups of darkspawn on a daily, and occasionally twice-daily basis. The dogs took their earned treats as an ongoing challenge, and managed to find and eliminate most of them, earning an impressive pile of coins and grateful pats from the men-at-arms escorting us. Only once were the rest of us permitted by our doggy-overlords to engage the darkspawn, and that was simply due to sheer numbers. Once again I dispatched most of them before the rest of the men had a chance to cross swords with them.

We stopped at Amaranthine overnight, but the Bann of the city was - we were told - in Denerim, and the house-staff were unable to accommodate us. Fergus accepted that graciously, though privately expressed some doubts. Esmerelle had not been in Denerim when we left, and we had not passed her on the road. Other accommodations were located, and the dogs' accumulated wealth was converted into a mound of jerky, kibble and a pair of vicious-looking collars.

A few nights out before Soldier's Peak, Fergus and Aedan invited me to sit with them around their fire away from the troops, ostensibly to discuss my upcoming appointment to the nobility. Instead, it started out as a gossip session that slowly turned into a subtle interrogation.

"You don't seem to get along with Arl Eamon," Fergus said diplomatically, after I'd settled down into a comfortable seated position.

Aedan's shoulders shook with silent laughter. "An understatement if I ever heard one, brother."

I grimaced. "No. We don't see eye to eye on some things."

Aedan's laughter was no longer silent. "Another understatement. Wonderful."

I gave the younger brother a mock-sour look. "Fine. Eamon is an idiot. The best thing I can say about him is that he's working himself into the ground trying to make up for his woeful treatment of Alistair when he was a boy."

Fergus blinked, looking taken aback. "I did not realise the depth of ill-will between you. If you are elevated to Arlessa, how will you work with the Chancellor? Technically you would be equals, though his proximity to the crown would lend his position more influence."

I shrugged. "I'll treat him exactly the same as I do now; with polite disdain. He knows that I would have no hesitation to call him out should he overstep his authority, and that I am quite happy for him to work undisturbed, so long as he fully backs Alistair."

Aedan scratched his mabari's ears. "What caused the bad blood between you?" he asked. At his brother's sharp look, he simply said, "What?"

Fergus sighed. "Apologies for my brother's ill-manners, Warden-Commander. He has always tended to speak without thinking."

I laughed aloud, but wondered how much of their conversation was rehearsed. Leliana had often told stories of how she manipulated people by having planted assistants direct a conversation. "No apology is needed. It would be hypocritical of me to take offence." I paused, gathering my thoughts. "But I suppose you need to understand my relationship with Eamon. It is pretty much defined by how we met. What do you know about the events at Redcliffe? About his poisoning, I mean."

"I've read the reports," Fergus said carefully.

Aedan smirked and shook his head. "Translated from noble-speak to common-tongue, that means 'give me your side of the story'."

Another glare from Fergus. I was really beginning to like Aedan. "Very well. After the debacle at Ostagar, Alistair, Morrigan, Thunder and I made our way north. We had nothing but our clothes, weapons and a trio of treaties, obligating the dwarves, elves and mages to assist the Wardens against a Blight." I sighed and shook my head. "We picked up Leliana and Sten in Lothering. Alistair insisted that we head to Redcliffe first. He believed that Eamon would be able to be of more assistance than our treaty-bound allies."

"But he had been poisoned."

I nodded. "Yep. Connor had accepted help from a demon to keep his father alive for the bargain price of his soul. In short, we got to Redcliffe, met Teagan, organised the militia, found lost children and rescued kittens stuck in trees."

"Hyperbole?" Aedan murmured.

I shrugged. "Sure. But the fact is that I met almost no one on my travels around Ferelden who could sort their own problems out, and none at all in Redcliffe. After a night of butchering the already-dead, Isolde appeared and begged Teagan to join her in the castle." I shook my head in disgust. "I swear all you need to persuade a Guerrin to jump off a cliff is a pretty girl and an Orlesian accent."

Both brothers made some move to conceal their expressions.

I grinned at them. "Anyway, we snuck into the castle, found the apostate who had been tutoring Eamon's son, discovered the boy was a mage, and that the entire mess could have been avoided had Isolde not tried to hide Connor's talents. We killed demons by the score, and finally subdued the one to whom Connor had bound himself. Killing the boy would have been the quickest and easiest method of saving everyone, but there was one other option - to send a mage into the Fade and battle the demon one-on-one there."

Fergus' eyes widened. "That sounds... dangerous."

"Well spotted," I replied with a nod and a chuckle. "There are a couple of methods of doing that. The apostate tutor was a blood mage, and he could send someone into the Fade, so long as he had someone to sacrifice. The other option was to head off to the Circle and petition the mages for assistance. And since I was heading there anyway, we decided to split up. Some of us would remain behind to make sure the demons didn't return while I took Alistair, Thunder and Leliana to the Circle tower."

"Connor owes you his life," Fergus remarked.

"True, though I came very close to choosing to simply kill him. It was a great risk to take, leaving him alone for even a few days. As it turned out, we were gone for a bit longer than that. The Circle needed... tending to. Don't ask me to relate that debacle. We don't have time between here and Highever for me to finish ranting about the stupidity I found there."

Fergus nodded. "As you wish."

"So, we returned to Redcliffe with mage allies, the First Enchanter and a bucket of lyrium for the ritual. I went into the Fade, found and killed the demon with the hold over Conner. Woke up to find Connor fine, but Eamon sill insensate. So, to cure him, we packed and left to track down Andraste's Ashes. It took weeks, we criss-crossed the entire country, fought and killed assassins, fanatical cultists and a sodding High Dragon just to get to the bloody temple built around the Ashes. We negotiated the Gauntlet protecting them. Took a pinch and came back to cure Eamon."

Aedan shifted into a different position. "That was remarkable for its lack of detail."

"It was. We'd be here all night if I told you everything. But the Ashes cured Eamon so three cheers for the Grey Wardens," I said sourly, punching my fist into the air with little enthusiasm.

"I presume that it was whatever happened when he woke up that caused the rift between you?"

I grunted an agreement. "We'd spent months getting him upright and functioning. All so we had a damned ally with resources. Eamon thanked us, declared us the Champions of Redcliffe, and suggested we get about enforcing the treaties." I snarled. "He was quite generous, but only with precious, yet oddly non-material rewards. So for all our effort, we got a pat on the back and assurances that he would set about doing what he needed to do. I was furious."

Fergus cleared his throat. "But he probably didn't have resources to spare at that point."

I shook my head. "He didn't. And given the state of his arling, I didn't expect it. I'd all but given up on the nobility as a whole. At that point of my life, I believed that a pile of dog shit would make a better noble."

Both men flushed. Aedan grumbled, "You never met our father."

"No, I didn't. From what I've heard, I'm poorer for it. But consider the nobles that I had met at that point. Cailan was a drooling imbecile. He had shattered any respect I had before he'd finished three sentences. He was a glory-seeking idiot so eager to be in a storybook battle that he sent hundreds of men to their deaths."

Fergus' eyes all but popped their sockets. "You can't say that about the King!" he wheezed.

"It's the truth," I said evenly, not prepared to censor my thoughts. "And sweetened words are for historians."

Aedan reached out and gripped his brother's shoulder. "Fergus, you were at Ostagar. I've spoken to veterans from the battle. Cailan was very cavalier with the lives of his troops. You must acknowledge that."

Fergus sighed. "I know. I just... speaking ill of the dead is not something with which I am entirely comfortable. And speaking ill of royalty is all but treason."

I sneered. "If someone other than Loghain had been brave enough to tell him that he was being an idiot, then maybe he wouldn't have led all those men and women to their deaths." I barked a laugh. "And that's another noble I had met. Loghain the regicide. He'd seemed impressive at first. A commoner raised to the nobility on the strength of his tactical and martial abilities. But the whole being-a-traitor knocked him down in my estimation somewhat. For all his faults, and being a regicide was a pretty big fault, he _was_ an inspiring leader and a brilliant strategist; he walked away from Ostagar with every man loyal to him alive, and every man loyal to the king dead."

Fergus grimaced. "His Majesty doesn't like to speak of Loghain, but for all his sins, the Teyrn always put Ferelden first."

I nodded. "He did, and he died a Warden, and my brother. His final sacrifice ensured that Ferelden and all of Thedas was safe from the archdemon."

Aedan scratched his jaw. "Did you meet any other nobles before you formed these opinions?"

"Only the Guerrins. Isolde, Teagan and Eamon. Isolde is a sociopath. She did not even acknowledge the deaths her actions had caused. From what I've seen, she'd have willingly sacrificed every soul in Redcliffe to prevent her son from being removed to the Circle and counted it a bargain. The only time she'd even shown an inkling of compassion was when Teagan had been mentally dominated, and even then she had taken the coward's path, and refused to stand up to the demon."

"Teagan was possessed?" Aedan hissed, sitting bolt upright.

I shook my head. "No, _dominated_. Forced to do the demon's bidding. As for him, I thought he was an idiot. A brave idiot to be sure, but an idiot nonetheless. His grasp of duty was inconsistent; he'd stood with the citizens of Redcliffe, organising their resistance to the nocturnal assaults and lived their troubles with them. But he decided to abandon the city and surrender himself to the power that had taken control of the castle on the basis of a single woman's word, leaving them to fend for themselves."

Fergus looked very uncomfortable. "I'm beginning to see why you have such a poor opinion of the nobility. I just wish you'd met our parents, I think you'd have liked Mother. She would have loved you. She always enjoyed seeing a woman making a name for herself."

Aedan laughed. "Mother? Aldous would have worshipped her!"

"And I suppose that leaves Eamon," I said, not interested in the opinions of dead people, and wanting this conversation over and done with. "A man who had taken in his brother-in-law's bastard child and promptly sent him to live in a stable. Unacknowledged as Alistair was, he posed no threat to the security of Ferelden, yet Eamon purposely destroyed any sense of self-worth, ambition or leadership ability in him."

Fergus shook his head. "He was a threat to King Cailan's security, actually. History is replete with illegitimate royal children used as pawns in politics."

"Really?" I challenged. "What proof do you have that Alistair is Maric's bastard?"

"Well, Eamon said..."

I held up a hand. "There is just as much evidence to suggest that Eamon collected a blond, blue-eyed Chantry orphan and claimed that he was Maric's son. Maric never acknowledged him, after all; never even spoke of him. What it all boils down to is Eamon's word. And Teagan's I suppose. There is no hard evidence that Alistair is actually a Theirin."

"His Majesty is the spit and image of King Maric!" Aedan said hotly.

"True, and for what it's worth, I have no doubt he is Maric's son. Regardless, Eamon's treatment of him was atrocious. So there you have it. A list of all the nobles I'd met at that point in my life. Not one of them worth spit. And after all the effort we put into saving him, Eamon brushed us off with nothing more than a round of applause." I shook my head. "And then he had the gall to ask if I had anything to say before he passed judgement on Jowan."

Aedan frowned. "Jowan?"

"The poisoner," Fergus supplied. "A friend of the Warden-Commander's from the Circle, I believe."

I nodded. "My best friend. My brother in all but blood. Eamon was ready to have him executed, but asked my opinion. I had no idea why he was interested in what an elf, a commoner and a mage thought. But he was mightily put out when I demanded Jowan be released."

Fergus shook his head in wonder. "I can't believe you requested a _maleficar_ be released."

I growled. "Into my custody! Not given freedom. I invoked the Right of Conscription, and both Alistair and Eamon looked set to explode." I let my mind wander back as I related the scene.

* * *

><p><em>"Release him," I said.<em>

_Sounds of surprise came from every corner of the room. Alistair chief among them._

_Eamon frowned at me. "I'm sorry, that I cannot do. He is a maleficar, and I will not be responsible for losing him upon the land. I shall surrender him to the Circle for judgement."_

_I shook my head. Jowan would be made Tranquil at the very least, and I couldn't let that happen. "No, you misunderstand me. I'm not asking you to set him free, I'm telling you to release him to me."_

_Several sharp intakes of breath echoed around the room at my statement. I suspect that it was the first time an elf had so much as spoken directly to Eamon, let along given him an order._

_"I beg your-" he started._

_I sliced a hand through the air. "I am invoking the Right of Conscription. Jowan is now a Grey Warden Recruit. He is my responsibility now."_

_"What?" Alistair exploded. "I have to be hearing things! You didn't just say that you want to recruit a maleficar, did you?"_

_"Yes," I confirmed with as much certainty as I could muster. "He has committed unforgivable crimes, but he will find absolution in a lifetime of killing darkspawn."_

_Eamon's voice all but quivered with suppressed rage. "I cannot condone this. You would risk the reputation of the Wardens for a maleficar?"_

_I shrugged. "The reputation of the Wardens could hardly be any worse at present, what with us being accused of killing the King. But I'm not interested in your approval, permission or even your acceptance. The Right overrules you in this. You have no choice."_

_"If you intend to spare his life out of some misguided act of friendship..."_

_I narrowed my eyes at Eamon. "You think I'm doing this because Jowan is my friend?" I spat. "We came here because Alistair said that you could help us. For some reason he thinks you are a capable leader," I waved my arm around the room, still blood-stained from the recent events, and the windows, that showed a critically injured city recovering. "Despite all the evidence to the contrary."_

_Alistair cleared his throat, but I continued my little speech, my voice rising in volume._

_I pointed at Isolde. "In order to save your wife, we have gone to the Circle and destroyed all manner of demons there." I shifted my arm to Connor. "In order to save your son, I went into the Fade and faced down the damned Desire Demon that held Connor's soul." I levelled my digit at Eamon himself. "In order to save you, we sought out and discovered an artefact thought lost for centuries. In order to save you, Arl Eamon, we had to kill a bloody enormous dragon!_

_"We've wasted so much sodding time trying to get you on your feet and healthy that the darkspawn have destroyed Lothering and have made head-roads into the Bannorn. Thousands of people are dead or homeless. Our enemies have had time to organise and send out assassins after us." I gave a theatric scoff. "And what dos the help you offer consist of? Telling us that we should go and enforce the treaties. Funny, that is exactly what we could have been doing for the past three months instead of traipsing from here to Denerim to the Frostback Mountains and back again. And in return, you claim that you intend to go and do what you should have been doing anyway. Goodness, I can't imagine why I don't feel more grateful; I suppose you think I should be swooning with delight."_

_"Kathryn," Alistair hissed, grabbing my arm. "Be respectful! He's the Arl!"_

_I jerked my arm out of his grasp, too infuriated to listen. "And now, having given us exactly bugger-all, you presume to lecture me for wanting to make the most of the limited assets I have? Keep your platitudes, your cheers and your titles. None of them are any use to me. Jowan is of use to me, and he is now a Grey Warden Recruit. You will release him to me. Now!"_

_"Warden," Eamon growled softly, "I understand your frustrations. I truly wish I could do more to assist you in your endeavours. But at present, I simply cannot; I have neither the resources nor the political capital."_

_I leaned forward, dropping my voice to barely more than a whisper. "Yes, you see, I can accept that, Eamon," I said clearly. "I've seen what remains of Redcliffe, and I understand that you need to spend what you have to provide for them. I understand that you are limited in what you can do. What I can't accept is you trying to feed me a shit sandwich and expecting me to be happy about it!"_

_"How dare you!" cried Isolde, her face flushed with rage._

_"Are they the only words you use when someone points out your idiocy?" I snapped at her._

_"Enough!" Eamon roared. "Warden, while I am grateful for everything you have done for my family, I will not tolerate this continued disrespect."_

_I spun on my heel and stormed towards the door. "Then you have two choices. Either get used to it or start doing something worthy of respect. For now, have Jowan brought to the castle gates."_

_"Alistair, Eamon called as I exited the room. "A word?"_

* * *

><p>Fergus and Aedan looked at each other, their shared expressions indecipherable. "Uh, wow. I didn't realise that you and Eamon were at odds to that degree. You certainly didn't act like it in the palace," Fergus said. "What did he and His Majesty talk about?"<p>

I grunted, settling into a more comfortable position against Thunder, who gave my hand a lick of support. "I don't know. Alistair never told me; he refused to. But he was unwavering in his support for me after that, so I suspect that Eamon tried to get him to take over leadership of the Wardens, and Alistair blew him off." I sighed deeply. "And honestly, finding the Ashes wasn't a total waste of time," I conceded. "On our way to Haven we made a side-stop in a nearby town and gathered a golem named Shale into our company. She was of enormous help in Orzammar and the Deep Roads."

"She?" Aedan asked.

I nodded. "She was originally Shayle of House Cadash, a dwarvern noblewoman. She volunteered to become a golem to protect the dwarves of her Thaig ages ago. She ended up in the hands of a mage named Wilhelm who retired to that village. I got a massive amount of magical research from Wilhelm's son. Stuff that would make the Circle's collective toes curl." I reached over to my sheathed sword and drew the blade. The silverite sword glittered in the firelight in a way non-magical metals simply could not. "And, in the caverns leading to the Temple, I found _this_."

"Your sword?"

I nodded. "This is Spellweaver. I can cast spells while wielding this beauty, just like a staff."

Fergus looked uncomfortable. "I'm not sure the world is ready for mages who carry swords." He coughed, suddenly red in the firelight. "Present company excepted, of course."

I grinned at him. "I'm not sure the mages are ready either. To start with, I thought the blade an oddity. Despite the obvious power in its enchantments, no non-mage can wield it; I've been told it squirms in your grip. I wanted to study it, to learn what it had been enchanted to do. It was only after I rediscovered an old form of magic that I could make use of it." I frowned. "All though, the mage who wielded it knew the old magic too. I suppose, like dragons, it isn't as extinct as first thought. It's possible that there's a small, isolated group of adherents who practice the form, passing it down, generation by generation."

"What does this 'form' do?"

I rapped my breastplate. "It channels my magic through my body, giving me strength enough to wear armour and wield blades. Other spells in the form enhance my combat ability and defence."

Fergus swallowed, shaking his head. "Mages who wear armour and wield swords. As an ally, it's something of a comfort, but as an enemy, it's terrifying."

I leaned over and patted him on the back of his hand. "Don't worry, Fergus. Just don't call me 'my lady' and I will never be your enemy." Aedan snickered at my jest, and scratched at Shadow's ears.

Shadow shook his head, dislodging his master's fingers, as he sat at Aedan's side. He seemed out of sorts.

"Are you all right, boy?"

Shadow whined.

Oddly, Thunder did too, patting my thigh with his paw. I frowned for a moment, a terrible thought forming. "Oh, bugger. Let me look at him."

"What is it?" Fergus asked as I rose to my feet.

"It could be the beginning stages of Blight sickness," I said, carefully examining Shadow's mouth and teeth. He snapped weakly at me, which earned him Aedan's admonishment.

I sighed. "It looks like it could be."

Aedan immediately looked worried. "Is it treatable?"

I nodded slowly. "Yes, with a flower that grows in the Korcari Wilds."

His shoulders slumped. "Damn. We'd never get there in time. Are you sure he's sick?"

I shook my head, but stood up. "No, I'm not certain. But he's showing some of the symptoms. It's better to be sure."

His head snapped around, and he glared at me. Apparently he thought I was advocating the worst. "What do you mean?"

I sighed. "I have some dried samples of the flower in my wagon. I don't know if it will work, but I can try to make a salve out of it. I think I have what I need to recreate it. It helped Thunder; hopefully, it can help Shadow."

It was a blow. The plant itself was rare enough, and the samples I managed to source in Denerim had been hideously expensive. It took more than half of what I had to make the salve. Aedan hovered irritatingly as I worked, but was very helpful in holding his dog steady as I applied the concoction in the same way the Kennel Master had back at Ostagar. Thunder whined in sympathy for his friend.

"We'll know by tomorrow, hopefully," I said, hoping to sooth Aedan's worries. "The day after at the latest."

In fact, it wasn't until the following night that Shadow began to cheer up. Two days after than he was back to his old self, much to Aedan's - and Fergus' - relief.

A day after Shadow resumed running around with Thunder, we reached the path that would take us to the Grey Warden fortress.

It took more than a little planning, not to mention some backbreaking effort, to successfully negotiate the tunnels leading to Soldier's Peak. The oxen initially refused to enter the tunnels, and a couple of sharp corners meant that the wagons emerged a little worse for wear, with deep scrapes on the corners and several damaged wheels.

Even so, it was almost worth the trouble to see the facial expressions of the Couslands on seeing the Peak for the first time.

"Maker's breath!" Aedan cursed, looking up at the massive fortress.

"Maker preserve me! That's Soldier's Peak?" wheezed Fergus, following his brother's gaze. "It's enormous!"

"Yep," I replied. "A hundred Grey Wardens held it against King Arland's entire army. They only lost the fight because they were starved out," I explained, neglecting to mention the two-century-old, demon-summoning incident. It would just worry them unduly.

Fergus looked up and back thoughtfully. "It will take quite some effort to make a passable road here. I can't see it becoming a trading post. As a defensive line however, I couldn't think of one much better. You could house an army within the fortress, safe from any invading force, and send sorties out at leisure."

"If the tunnels were paved flat, this would make a decent military post for couriers and patrols between Denerim and Highever," Aedan offered. "And I think King Arland had the right idea. The only way I'd ever try to take this place would be if it were empty. Our Nan could hold the fortress armed with just a kitchen knife and washing board."

Fergus shook his head. "But it makes no sense. King Arland defeated the Wardens and expelled them from Fereldan; why would he leave this empty?"

I winced. Explaining would be problematic, given Fergus' distrust of mages.

"Who would he have given it to?" Aedan asked pointedly. "Anyone gifted this place would have to be at least a Bann, and once they had their soldiers in place, they'd instantly be a threat to the kingdom. Anyone not fully loyal wouldn't be loyal enough, and in classic literature it's said that King Arland never fully trusted someone until they were dead."

Fergus nodded. "I suppose that's true. I can imagine a paranoid King preferring it to be left empty, if it wasn't the seat of his power. It still seems like a waste to me, though."

Pleased as I was with Aedan's unknowing explanation, I decided that mentioning that the Peak had not technically been empty for centuries could wait for a later time.

o_ooo000ooo_o

A/N: I know that Zevran and other voiced Antivans in the game have Spanish accents, but with the merchant families in power, I always saw Antiva as a sort of medieval Italy, with feuding city states. Thus the Antivan (Italian) Game, which is a very famous opening in chess. I just made up the Thedas versions of the names for the pieces.

I deviated quite substantially from canon with Jowan. I never understood why the Warden couldn't recruit him. I mean, beyond game design, of course. Of all the various characters you meet in the game, the unlucky Blood Mage just struck a chord with me. No matter what he did, he always made things worse. I reckon he'd have had the best banter pack.

Thanks to my reviewers - Isabeau of Greenlea, Aaron W, MB18932, SgtGinger, Jormund Elver and TheDawg - it is true that reviews are an addiction.


	5. Spring cleaning Castle Cousland

disclaimer type=standard

Anything you recognise is Bioware's. I daresay anything else belongs to them too.

/disclaimer

o_ooo000ooo_o

The Seeker shook her head, looking disgusted. "You lied, directly and by omission, to your liege lord?" she said, reaching out and knocking over her king.

Kathryn gave a soft, rough chuckle. "No. He wasn't my lord at that point. And besides, I'm a Grey Warden, keeping secrets is second nature. Another game?"

Cassandra rolled her eyes. "Of course. I should not have expected anything less. But your blasé attitude towards the danger posed by the criminals you harboured does not speak well of you. And no, one game is enough for now."

Kathryn crossed her arms, looking not in the least perturbed. "I can count on one hand the number of people whose opinion of me I care about, with fingers left over. Surely you aren't surprised that you aren't among that number?"

The Seeker crossed her own arms, mirroring the gesture. "I have heard many stories of you delving deeply into the forbidden, Warden. Rumours abound that chronicle your use of Blood Magic."

The mage rolled her eyes. "You know so much about the Wardens, yet you seem to have missed a fairly significant phrase in our stated purpose. We protect the people of Thedas from the darkspawn, _by any means necessary_. Not, 'by any means necessary, so long as short-sighted, power-hungry, hypocritical priests say it's okay'. Do you see the difference, or should I spell it out a little more clearly?"

Cassandra strode forward, covering the distance between them in two steps. She shoved her face close to the Warden's; so close their noses almost touched. "Are you a Blood Mage?" she demanded, wanting an answer to one of the most pressing questions she had of this mage.

Kathryn didn't flinch back, didn't even blink. "What do you think, Cassandra? Hmm? Do you think I'm a Blood Mage?"

Slowly, Cassandra pulled back. "I… no. I do not think so. Every one of the rumours I've collected are second- or third-hand accounts. I have not managed to find a single reputable person who personally witnessed you using blood to power your spells." She shook her head. "And when you were… taken… the manacles on your arms prevented you from using mana with which to cast spells. Not blood."

The tremor in the mage's hands did not go unnoticed. Cassandra filed it away. For all her courage and defiance, not to mention years of recovery, the Warden had still not completely come to terms with the ordeal she had suffered.

"I must say, I'm impressed. I haven't met many people who actively try to find evidence to counter their own beliefs."

Cassandra smirked. "Don't think I missed the fact that you didn't answer my question," she said, parroting Kathryn's words back at her.

A slow smile spread over the mage's features. "Touché . No, I am not a Blood Mage. That's not to say I haven't used Blood Mages and their research for my benefit."

That surprised her. "Oh? Leliana was quite impressed at the way you dealt with the Blood Mage Caladrius. You didn't use any of his research, despite his generous offer."

Kathryn smiled faintly at the memory. "Ah, yes. Caladrius. I found killing him very satisfying. As did Leliana, as I recall. His blatant use of Blood Magic put her in a right state. She was _brutal _with him."

Cassandra frowned slightly, tilting her head to one side. "Then to what research do you refer?"

Kathryn raised a fist to her mouth and coughed, looking a little embarrassed. "Avernus created an alchemical concoction that allows us to use the taint in our blood. Wardens who have imbibed his potion can invoke the taint to harm those our blood touches."

The Seeker's eyes dropped to the Warden's hands. "Your blood is a weapon?" she asked aghast, reevaluating just how dangerous this woman was, and not for the first time. There seemed to be no end to her deadly skills.

Kathryn nodded, silently.

There was a slight pause before the Seeker spoke. "Even with that power, if you truly believed that the Wardens fought the darkspawn by any necessary means, then you would have learned Blood Magic at some time. So I have to wonder why. Why have you not gone down that path?"

"I'm not sure you're ready to believe my answer."

"Ready? I am always ready to hear the truth."

Kathryn tilted her head to one side, evaluating her. Her expression indicated that she did not believe the Seeker's statement. "It's too easy."

Cassandra waited a long moment for clarification. When it became obvious it was not coming, she said, "Too easy. That's your reason for not resorting to Blood Magic?"

"Yes."

Another pause. With a barely perceptible facial tic, the Seeker said, "Would you care to elaborate?"

Kathryn shrugged. "In your time as a Seeker, you would have met many people with power. I have too. Someone like Irving, for instance, had a great deal of magical power, gained over decades. And from that, he amassed a moderate amount of political power. Yet he almost always deferred to Greagoir; he rarely ever _used_ the power he had. He was masterful against the archdemon, make no mistake, but for the most part he was always too cautious. Someone who combines ability with restraint tends to accomplish a great deal. In the classroom."

"I was under the impression that you admired the man?"

"I detested him. He taught well, and patiently, but he could have changed the world for the better for hundreds of Circle mages. But he didn't, because he was afraid of the consequences. I respected his magical skill, but he was far too cautious in the application of power, magical or political. On the other side of the spectrum are the young templars newly assigned to the Circle. For all their pious vows of chastity and obedience, suddenly they had all this unaccustomed power over people who had no recourse against their abuses." At the Seeker's narrowed eyes, she quickly raised a hand and continued, "I'm not about to launch into another rant against the Circle. I'm contrasting the different ways people react when given power. Some fear using it, others revel in it."

"I see."

Kathryn considered the Seeker. "I have my doubts, but perhaps you do. Well, that is my answer. It is too easy. Someone who is suddenly given power is often ill-equipped to use it wisely. Many Blood Mages flounder quickly; they have suddenly increased horizons, and so they tend to over-extend themselves in order to attain their goals too quickly. They make mistakes, or even come close to dying, and they then end up bargaining for more power, without the step of the process where they learn from suffering the consequences of their actions. But you see, the more you bargain with a demon, the higher the price gets, and the less you get in return."

Cassandra frowned slightly, considering the elf's words. "You fear it could control you?"

The Warden sighed. "No. I knew you wouldn't understand. The power I've gained, I've worked for. I've drained myself to exhaustion to keep a companion alive, and then forced myself to keep casting through shaking hands. I've drunk so much lyrium in one go that my piss glowed blue for a week afterwards. I've spent unending weeks maintaining so many protective spells on my companions and me that I could barely cast a simple hex. But you see, all that has made me stronger. The power that I have - I've worked for it, I've been hurt for it, and I've killed for it. It is more power than any Circle mage has dreamed of, but for all that, I know I can control it."

The Seeker observed the mage for a long moment. "I think I understand. It is not the fear that it would control you, but the fear that you would use it unwisely."

A nod. "Close enough."

Cassandra guessed that she would not get much further with this line of questioning. Kathryn Surana was not a Blood Mage, a scenario that had terrified almost every priest in Thedas. "How did Teyrn Fergus react to the maleficarum in the tower?"

Kathryn laughed softly. "Not well. Not well at all."

o_ooo000ooo_o

"Kat!"

I looked over to see Jowan race out of the main entrance to the keep, his hair flying and a world-brightening smile on his face. "Jowan!" I shouted back with a wave.

I gently tugged on the reins, slowing the oxen to a halt. I stood and leapt easily down from the wagon, just in time for my oldest friend to catch me up in a hug. "I've missed you."

"So I see," I laughed, kissing him on the cheek. "Help me unload? We can catch up as we walk." I turned back to the wagon. Thunder stood on the wagon's seat, head tilted to one side. "Thunder, can you guard the wagon for me while we unload it?"

"Whuff!" he declared, stubby tail thumping a staccato on the seat.

"Good boy. Come on, Recruit!"

We walked around to the rear of the wagon. "Ooo, fresh supplies," Jowan said, rubbing his hands together. "What did you bring?"

I grinned. "A bit of this, a bit of that, and a lot of the other." I whipped off the hide blanket and pulled out one of the small sealed crates. "Here, take this."

He accepted it, hefting it up and down carefully to judge its weight. "I can carry more than this, you know."

I shook my head. "We're carrying these up several flights of stairs, and what's in them is irreplaceable. Let's each just take one at a time."

"Oh, if you say so. Did you have any trouble getting here?"

I picked up a crate for myself and shook my head. "Nope. It was pretty quiet. Of course, travelling with thirty men-at-arms tends to make for quiet travelling. Apart from the darkspawn attacks, that is."

He laughed as we entered the keep. "Hardly worth mentioning, I'll bet. Is there any news from the Circle?"

"Nope. Not since the Blight ended at least."

"No?" He sounded surprised. "I thought you were writing to a few of the mages that helped against the archdemon."

I nodded. "I am, but I haven't heard anything. Greagoir has apparently closed the Circle off. No one is getting in or out. Eamon can't even get a letter to or from Connor. I'm headed there next to see what's going on."

Jowan swallowed. "I wish I'd never..." he mumbled, looking wretched.

"I know."

We climbed the stairs in silence.

"How are you holding up?"

Jowan grimaced, panting a little. "Well, I guess I'm fine. I mean, if you hadn't let me stay here, I'd be either Tranquil or dead, right?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Is it that bad here, really?"

He shook his head. "No, not really. Avernus is... well, he's really creepy." He lowered his voice to a whisper. "He still makes my flesh crawl, Kat."

"Can you stand his company for a little longer? I'm on my way to the Circle, and I hardly think it's safe to take you there."

He looked down, ashamed. "I must sound ungrateful. You conscripted me, I know, but until I become a Warden I'm still going to be in danger, aren't I?"

I gave a low laugh. "Even after you go through the Joining, I imagine you'll be a target. I still am; the Grand Bitch sent me a really snotty letter demanding to know when I would be surrendering to the Circle now that the Blight was over. Well, she used the word 'returning' but the meaning was clear. They can't stand a mage being out from under their feet."

Jowan looked shocked. "But I've read the treaties; we've got copies here in the tower. The Chantry has no jurisdiction over Grey Wardens."

I shrugged. "There haven't been any Warden mages in Ferelden since the rebellion. Well, except for Avernus, obviously. The Chantry have become accustomed to thinking of themselves as the guardians of all mages. I'm doing what I can to disabuse them of the notion in my case, but templars are notoriously hard of learning. It will take some time. Speaking of the Joining, These cases we're carrying contain one of the required ingredients."

"Oh? What is it?"

"You'll find out," I said with a smirk. His expression fell. "Oh come on, the Wardens are an order of secretive warriors. You can't expect me to just spill them all for you before you Join."

He sighed. "I suppose."

We crossed the suspended stone bridge to Avernus' tower. Looking down, I could see Thunder standing guard over the rest of the archdemon blood. He looked to be taking his assignment very seriously, given the wide berth the workmen were giving the wagon.

A voice from the tower entrance said, "Ah, I thought I felt a familiar Warden's presence. Welcome back, sister."

I forced myself to smile at the creepy old maleficar. "Hello Avernus. How are you?"

He gave me a smile of his own, one that looked almost peaceful. It was a shock to see it on his tired old face. "I am content; my experiments have been more productive recently. Jowan is a more than adequate research assistant. Even without the Circle library, he is knowledgeable about the advances in magical theory that have passed me by."

I glanced at Jowan, noting that he was blushing at the praise. "Yes, he was always the first person I turned to for assistance with my homework essays on spell theory."

He nodded, holding the door open for us. "Did you bring me some samples of the plant you described?"

I nodded. "I did, but I had to use some of them. They are in another crate in the courtyard. Where can we stack these?"

He eyed the wooden crates curiously before pointing off to one side. "There is a clear section of wall over there. What do they contain?"

I smiled. "Something I picked up after defeating the archdemon. We need it for the Joining ritual."

The old mage's eyes lit up. "Ah, splendid! How many vials do you have there?"

"Fifty in each crate. Standard size."

"A hundred standard vials will supply the Wardens of Ferelden for quite some time. Used sparingly, that may well be enough to last until the next Blight. Splendid!"

I coughed. "Er, no. These are just the two crates we carried up here. There are a further fourteen crates in the wagon."

He gaped at me. It was quite amusing to see that expression on such an old man. "You have _eight hundred _vials of archdemon blood? Did Weisshaupt fail to requisition some for the Wardens of other nations?"

Jowan whimpered, suddenly looking as though he was about to drop his crate. "Archdemon blood?"

I rolled my eyes, and Avernus looked rather abashed at his outburst. "No, they have staked their claim. The Second Warden actually came in person to collect the Anderfels Wardens' allocation. Go and put the crate down before you drop it, Jowan."

Avernus looked abashed. "My apologies for my slip. I had not ever thought to see so much archdemon blood in one place. Indeed, I for many years I had not thought I would ever see any again. With that much blood, well, just imagine the experiments I could do." His voice trailed off and his eyes grew distant.

I was suddenly a little more nervous about my decision to store the blood here - with a pair of maleficarum scholars. Who knows what Avernus' insane genius combined with Jowan's impressive spell theory could create with such access. "Wardens from all over Thedas have already come and taken their allocations. I just secreted a dozen crates away from the bulk of the harvest before they arrived. I didn't want Ferelden to lose out. There was quite a bit of bickering as it was over which country should get what amount. We'd have been left with almost nothing had I not been there. As it was, I was only officially permitted to keep four crates. I was told that if the Ferelden Wardens ever ran low, we could petition Weisshaupt for more." I paused. "To tell the truth, I think Helmut suspected that I had a hidden stash, but I doubt he realised how much I'd hidden."

Avernus rubbed his hands together happily. "You have done well, Commander. Very well indeed. Shall I assist in unloading the blood?"

"That won't be necessary, Jowan and I can take care of it. It will just take a while to bring them up one at a time. We need to be careful. I've put what protective enchantments on the vials I could, and they're packed with straw and hessian, but the blood is particularly difficult to store safely. Dropping a crate would be disastrous."

"Very well. I did note that there was an increase in activity in the courtyard. The Dryden merchants have been agreeable neighbours to date. They have left me to my own devices and kept the noise to a minimum. They have even shared their meals occasionally. I understand the young nephew is skilled in snaring game."

I considered explaining that the thought of annoying an ancient maleficar who dabbled in demon summoning was probably what kept the neighbours from disturbing him too much. I dare say it also accounted for most of their generosity with food. I thought better of it. "The Teyrn of Highever and his brother are downstairs with a team of workmen and several wagons of supplies. They intend to get the Peak weather-proof and habitable again."

"The good news is simply flowing today. I was merely looking forward to examining the plant samples. Now it seems that Soldier's Peak is on the way to resurrection."

I nodded. "The plants are dried, unfortunately; it was all I could get in Denerim. They do work, however; the Teyrn's brother has a mabari who was mildly tainted. I managed to cure him with a salve made with the dried plant. I'm planning to head down into the Wilds in a few weeks to find some fresh samples."

"What plant are you talking about?" Jowan asked, returning from putting the crate down in a corner.

"It fights the Blight sickness. Well, in mabari at least," I said, moving over to the corner and placing my crate on top of the one Jowan had already placed. "Before Ostagar, I collected some for the Kennel Master to help treat Thunder - he suffered dreadfully with the taint. After the battle, he somehow managed to find me, and he was perfectly healthy."

"A conundrum," Avernus added. "Established wisdom suggests that Blight sickness is always fatal, and even successfully Joining the Wardens only postpones death. That a common flower has the capability to cure, or at least delay the sickness onset is astonishing, even if it is only effective on one species."

I nodded. "I'll bring that crate up next. It has a few other things you may find useful. Flasks, lyrium powder, other herbalism reagents, a few poisons."

Avernus' eyes were bright. "With such supplies, I will be able to restart many of my abandoned research paths anew. With study, I believe I may be able to use this plant to improve the success rate of the Joining ritual."

I shuddered, remembering my own Joining. "That would be very helpful. Come on Jowan, let's go get some more crates."

"Success rate?" Jowan whispered as we made our way downstairs.

I grunted. "Yes. The Joining is dangerous."

"What happens to those who fail?"

I winced. "Think of it as the Warden's Harrowing."

There was a long pause. "Oh."

I made a face. "Don't. Please? You're acting like Ser Jory, a knight at my Joining. He panicked, and died. Don't approach the Joining in fear."

"But it's dangerous!"

"Yes, and you've run from danger all your life, except to learn bloody Blood Magic! Approach it like that. Think of it as something that will enable you to emerge out from under people with power over you. Besides, the Joining ritual was developed with Blood Magic. If anyone is more likely to survive, it's a maleficar."

He smiled at that. "Well, maybe."

We made our way out to the wagon again, where a workman begged me to ask Thunder to let him unhitch the ox pulling the wagon. I chuckled at the literal way my war hound interpreted my orders. Jowan and I assisted in releasing the beast. Well, tried to assist. Jowan made a mess of things, managing to twist the lines. I sent him away with another blood-filled crate and helped the workman free the animal. I turned back to the wagon to pick up another crate only to see that someone else had braved Thunder's displeasure.

Fergus watched Jowan intently as he entered the keep. "It was my understanding that you were the only Warden mage in Ferelden," he challenged, turning back to me.

"A common misconception," I replied. I noted his expression. "He's only a Warden Recruit. Look, it's complicated."

"It must be. You called him Jowan."

I nodded, just knowing where this was going.

Fergus continued, jabbing a finger at Jowan's retreating back. "_He's _the apostate and maleficar who poisoned Arl Eamon?"

I stared at him, not bothering to confirm or deny.

The Teyrn's eyes narrowed. "Well?" he demanded.

I raised my chin. "Well what?" I challenged.

"Look, you told me that you recruited this Jowan out from under Eamon's thumb, but I have no reports of him being present in your company afterwards. I had assumed that he had perished during the Blight."

"Why does this matter? Jowan is a Warden recruit, beyond the Chantry's reach. Beyond civil reach too."

His voice dropped to a growl. "It matters because if there is a blood mage residing in my teyrnir, I want to know about it!"

I sighed. This was going to be difficult. "Very well, grab a crate. I'll take you upstairs and introduce you to the maleficarum of the Peak's tower."

He took a step before he stiffened, apparently shocked. "_Maleficar-um_? Plural? There's more than one?"

I shrugged, figuring that I'd best get the bad news out in one go. "Only two. There are only two upstairs," I said, trying to suggest that it could be so much worse.

"Only two?" he said, a bit weakly.

"Yes. Come on. They won't bite."

"No, but they may control my mind and make me jump off the tower," he said sourly, picking up one of the larger crates in the wagon.

"Unlikely," I retorted. "Why go to all the trouble of cutting yourself, casting an unreliable spell and mentally wrestling with someone just to get them to jump? It's far less effort to simply blast you off the tower with lightning."

He shook his head. "You're not making a case for them being harmless."

I chuckled. "Harmless, no, they are not harmless. Well, Jowan comes close."

"He poisoned Eamon! He's not even remotely close to being harmless."

"He is, actually. His control over elemental magic is poor, he can barely call forth enough power to actually injure someone. His entropic spells are woeful, and healing magic is usually incompatible with Blood Magic."

"He's a _maleficar_ - by definition he's not harmless."

"A maleficar who gets faint at the sight of blood."

"He... what?" Fergus said, suddenly confused.

I laughed softly. "I've seen him cast just one Blood Magic spell, and that was non-lethal, to escape being executed. He can't stand the sight of blood."

Fergus' mouth opened and closed. "Really?"

I nodded with a rueful expression. "Odd, don't you think? Or perhaps ironic is a better description. He only learned Blood Magic from a book because his other spells were so weak. He's a born scholar - not a practitioner - of magic."

"So he was after more power?"

"No," I disagreed. "Jowan was terrified of having to take his Harrowing. If you fail it, you die. If you don't have spells of sufficient power, you die. If you succumb to the demons, you are killed. If you don't take your Harrowing, you are made Tranquil, which effectively means you die. He was terrified of death, so he decided to learn forbidden magic. He didn't summon a demon and make a deal for the knowledge, he learned it from a book."

"Is there a difference?" Fergus challenged.

"Sure," I replied. "A demon will demand something in return for the knowledge; your soul perhaps, or your body, or freedom. Learning it through a book has none of those risks."

"Even so, it can't be... Wait! Is that why you collected that darkspawn blood? For them? What are they going to do with it?"

I stared at him. How had he known? I sighed. "With all due respect Fergus, that's none of your business."

He rounded on me. "I disagree, so I'm making it my business. I wont stand for anyone in my teyrnir using blood magic!" he spat. At my raised eyebrows, he added, "Or any organisation!"

I was suddenly glad he hadn't picked up a crate containing archdemon blood. "Oh? I look forward to watching your efforts to expel the Chantry from your teyrnir then," I spat back. "It should be entertaining."

He blinked. "What? No one in the Chantry uses blood magic! Such an accusation is obscene!"

I barked a sarcastic laugh. "Sorry, _Teyrn Fergus_, but you are wrong. The templars forcibly take blood from children."

His face reddened alarmingly. "How dare you!"

I bent over and placed my crate on the floor. "I dare," I emphasised, "because it's the truth. Here, look!" I said, unbuckling the armour on my left arm. "The day I arrived at the Circle, two templars held me down while a third cut my arm open. They took a vial of my blood to make my phylactery. I was five."

He stared blankly at the scar on the inside of my elbow.

I stepped closer. "They don't heal the cut either, oh no. They let you scar, so that you always have a reminder that you are marked property of the Chantry. I screamed in pain and terror as they did it, and got nothing but the back of a templar fist across my face for my trouble."

He tore his eyes away from the scar. "W-why?"

I sneered. "So that if ever we escape their tower prison, we can be tracked down like animals. Tracked with damned blood magic." I buckled my armour back on.

He shook his head. "I don't believe it," he said faintly.

"Well, go and ask the priest at your castle. I'm not going to bother convincing you. If she doesn't prevaricate and confirms it, I'll wager she'll justify it as not being _real _blood magic, or that it's blood magic for a good cause." I picked up the crate. At that moment, Jowan came down the stairs into view. "Hey Jowan," I called. "Show the Teyrn here your scar from when they made your phylactery."

Jowan looked surprised at the request, but pulled the sleeve of his robe back. The pale scar was in exactly the same position.

Fergus stared at the scar. "How old were you?"

"I was five or six," Jowan replied, his tone questioning.

"You don't know how old you were?" Fergus snapped.

Jowan shrank back from the accusatory tone. "I don't know how old I was when I was sent to the Circle, Your Grace. For that matter, I don't exactly know how old I am now. The templars do not keep our personal details when we are brought to the tower."

I jerked my head towards Fergus. "The Teyrn here is having some trouble believing that the Chantry condones the use of blood magic, but only so long as they're the ones using it."

"Ah," Jowan said sadly. "I'm sorry, Your Grace, but that's true. The templars make a phylactery for every child mage they bring to the Circle. Their creation and use both involve blood magic."

Fergus looked horrified. "Why? Why do that do that?"

Jowan shrugged. "There is, well, _power _in blood, for want of a better word. Power that cannot be masked or hidden. With a sample of a mage's blood, you can follow that mage anywhere. It takes blood magic to do so, but the ecclesiastical hierarchy have long accepted their own use of it."

The Teyrn looked between us. "It just seems so, well, hypocritical of them."

Jowan and I nodded in unison. "It does, doesn't it?" I said with a small smile. Perhaps there was hope for this noble.

Fergus' eyes narrowed. "I'd still like to meet the other maleficar. What is his name?"

o_ooo000ooo_o

"Avernus," I said, gesturing to my side. "I'd like you to meet Teyrn Fergus Cousland. Fergus, this is Avernus, Senior Warden Mage in every sense of the title."

Fergus bowed stiffly, his eyes hard, yet curious. Avernus acknowledged the bow gracefully, returning the gesture with an expression of complete serenity. "Your Grace, welcome to Soldier's Peak. I sincerely appreciate your donation of materials and labour to weather-proof the fortress. It will be wonderful to have it habitable once again."

"You are welcome, Warden Avernus," he replied. "Forgive me for being blunt, but I am informed that you practice Blood Magic."

Avernus raised an eyebrow and looked at me. "Oh? How charming. I was under the impression that the Commander preferred to keep my research topics confidential."

I put the next crate of blood down and shrugged. "What can I say? Fergus here, or perhaps his brother, saw me take some blood from a darkspawn corpse. That naturally led to questions about use of Blood Magic, which Fergus has some issues with. And he recognised Jowan's name." I grinned at the Teyrn. "Apparently being an apostate, maleficar and noble-poisoning assassin breaks more laws at once than any other action."

Fergus flushed. "This is not a joke! I want to know what it is you do here!"

Avernus shrugged. "We develop new and better ways to kill darkspawn and demons," he replied easily.

The Teyrn blinked. "I... I beg your pardon?"

Avernus shuffled over to his bookshelves, selecting a tome. "There is great power in blood, which can be used for good or ill, just as any other power. In Grey Wardens, whose blood is tainted, this is doubly so. My research delves into the mysteries of the darkspawn taint, and developing that power to make Grey Wardens more effective banes of demons and darkspawn."

I grinned at Fergus, who grimaced and said snarkily, "I may have political power, yes," before turning back to Avernus and continuing, "but I cannot control someone's mind on a whim!"

"Oh?" Avernus said mildly. "Nobles have a long history of kidnapping the children of their opponents to force them to do their bidding. Such an act is far more reliable and effective than the vagaries of Blood Magic."

"Before Fergus explodes with frustration," I said, hoping to stave off an argument I knew would doom Soldier's Peak to be at constant odds with Highever, "are there any secrets that are historically divulged to the ruling classes? Perhaps if he knew more, he wouldn't have so much to distrust."

The old mage eyed me warily. "Kings are given some tidbits, yes, as are the Divines, both Black and White. This is to ensure that the treaties we have are upheld. Mere nobles, however esteemed their rank, are simply expected to obey."

I shrugged. "Well, that leads to disaster when the King is an idiot and the Teyrn is in charge," I said, thinking back to Ostagar. "Fergus here is closest thing Ferelden has to an heir to the throne."

Avernus pursed his lips. "Is securing Teyrn Fergus' approval that important?"

I nodded, given the political discussion between the Cousland brothers I overheard. "Yes. I'm not sure if Soldier's Peak falls in the Amaranthine arling, but it is within the Highever teyrnir. Either way, Fergus has a major interest in it. And unless a miracle occurs, he'll be our next king."

Fergus rounded on me. "What? Is His Majesty ill?"

I sighed and shook my head. "No. That's not what I mean. Grey Wardens master the darkspawn taint when we Join. We use darkspawn blood in the ceremony. If we survive, we become immune to blight sickness, but we pay a heavy price for that power. One of the prices is significantly reduced fertility." I waved a hand. "There you go. Broad explanations for the blood I collected, the secrecy involved and the fact that you are likely to be the next king."

o_ooo000ooo_o

"That was Teyrn Fergus' introduction to Soldier's Peak? I fail to see just how he could go from fearing magic to being your ardent supporter."

Kathryn sighed. "For someone who prides herself on getting the entire story, you certainly don't seem to bother waiting for the whole story before forming opinions."

Cassandra frowned. "You have mentioned repeatedly that he was angry and antagonistic when confronting you and your Warden allies. And there has been no indication that his views were softening towards you."

Kathryn sighed deeply. "People can be confrontational for all sorts of reasons, Cassandra. Fear, jealousy, hatred. But consider what you know of Fergus. He is polite, considerate and dutiful. He has been given an extensive, and expensive, education, and is well regarded by both his allies and political opponents. For someone like that to lose civility means that they are truly angry. And Fergus wasn't angry at me, or Jowan, or at magic. He was angry because I was challenging his beliefs."

Cassandra drew a hitched breath. "Ah, I see," she said, turning to look out the thin window. She knew better than most that people got angry when their cherished beliefs were shown to be false.

The Warden gave a rough chuckle. "Yes. I suspect you do. Varric told me that you got a little angsty at times when he told you something you didn't want to hear."

The Seeker gave a half nod before gasping and snapping her head around to face the elf. "Varric! When did you meet that dwarf?"

Kathryn leaned forward. "Recently; he had some information I needed. But that comes later in the tale."

Cassandra narrowed her eyes, but instinctively knew that pushing the issue was futile. "So what does come next?"

"We left the workmen under the direction of Levi's brother, and headed on to Highever. Have you ever been to Highever?"

"No, I have not."

Emerald eyes lost their focus. "It's beautiful. Castle Cousland itself is quite imposing, it is built on a rocky outcrop above the deepwater harbour. But the city is amazing. It's not as big as Denerim, but the people who live there just seem happier. Maybe it's the climate, maybe its the lack of pretentious, toadying nobles. But I enjoyed my brief stay there." She shook her head and focused on the Seeker once more. "The different expressions on the Cousland brothers told the circumstances in which they had left. Fergus looked excited, by all accounts exceedingly happy to be home. Aedan's expression was pensive, even nervous."

Cassandra frowned. "Did something happen there? Something that made the Teyrn more favourable to you?"

"Blessed Andraste, you have no idea, do you? The Revered Mother at Highever came to you with a sob story about how Fergus kicked her and all the other traitors out, but she didn't mention anything about her own complicity, did she? And you didn't bother asking."

"Tell me," the Seeker said, inwardly wincing and preparing for the worst. "I need to know everything."

"All right. When we got to the Castle a few days later, the shit flew everywhere."

o_ooo000ooo_o

The walk through the city was... nice, sort of. The two brothers were greeted with cheers and an impromptu festival. It was pleasant to see everyone happy in a city devastated by treason. I marched next to Captain Francois and behind the pair of grey horses, stepping over horse shit and occasionally holding my breath.

The approach to the castle proved to me that Howe, for all his faults, was not an idiot. It would take perhaps a force of twelve or fifteen times the number of defenders to take the fortress by strength of arms. The road was not so much laid as grafted to the land, and the rocky outcrop had its own ideas about the easiest way to the top. Attacking from within would be the only practical way to win the day.

Well before we got to the outer gate, I could tell that there was something wrong. Something metaphysical; it rasped at my mage senses, like a rough armour strap on a blister. At my side, Thunder whined. I drew a breath, raising a hand. "Wait," I said, listening without my ears, feeling without my fingers. "The Veil is... not right. Stretched. Thin. Something is wrong."

Aedan turned in his saddle to face me and frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I've felt this before. A couple of times. The terrible events here have, er, well, I suppose 'polluted' the area is as good a description as any. The Veil between this world and the Fade is weak." I turned to face Fergus, noting the suddenly terrified looks on the faces of the nearby locals. "Send anyone not armed and armoured away. Get them out of here."

The Teyrn nodded and dismounted. He handed the reins to Captain Francois and said, "Captain, clear the castle and its surrounds. Everyone needs to be evacuated until we know what is going on."

"Yesser," the Captain said. He saluted, turned and began barking orders.

"Warden-Commander, what do you suggest?" Fergus asked, his tone cool and polite. Just as it had been since the Peak.

I closed my eyes, trying to get a better feel for the damage done to the Veil. "It is not too bad, I've seen worse. It's…" I opened my eyes. "Give me a couple of hours and I can repair the damage. I'll need whatever lyrium is available at the Chantry, and you'll need to keep everyone away until it's done. I will need to ensure that all extra-planar entities are exterminated first though."

"Extra-what?" Aedan asked, sounding confused.

"Demons," Fergus replied tonelessly. "That's what you mean, isn't it?"

"Yes," I replied, not willing to offer unnecessary hope.

He nodded and issued some orders as I led us through the portcullis and into the main courtyard. The unnatural stink of demons was stronger here.

The massive double doors to the castle suddenly burst open, causing us all to jump, and scores of templars stormed out in a panicked rush. Grown men and women, armed and armoured, sprinted by, shrieking in terror. One templar tripped over and landed with a crash in front of us, his helmet shooting off to one side. He looked to fit the part of grizzled veteran well, with iron-grey hair at his temples, an eyepatch and scars of various age on his face. His high-pitched shrieks of terror sounded as though they should have emanated from the throat of a five-year-old girl. He scrabbled and scrambled to his feet, desperate to flee whatever horrific construct resided in Castle Cousland.

Fergus and Aedan watched in drop-jawed amazement as the horde of holy warriors fled the castle. We turned to gaze upon whatever nightmarish terror had routed such a potent force. As one, we readied ourselves to valiantly lay down our lives in defence of those whom swore their allegiance to the Couslands.

It was a rage demon. A tiny one. Perhaps describing it as a brassed-off demon, or an irritation demon would be closer. No more than a foot tall, it squeaked with a voice like a baritone mouse, and charged at us.

I raised a foot, and stamped down, ending the threat. I turned back to the Cousland brothers, nonchalantly shrugged and said...

o_ooo000ooo_o

"What?" Kathryn asked.

Cassandra glared at her. "Why? Why lie? What purpose does it serve?"

"Oh come on, Cassandra! Liven up. It's fun to make templars sound idiotic."

There was no response.

"You're a real stick-in-the-mud, you know."

The Seeker narrowed her honey-coloured eyes dangerously, but she did not respond.

The mage sank back down and crossed her arms with a sulky expression. "Fine. But you are, you know."

o_ooo000ooo_o

The leftmost of the massive double doors to the castle burst open, and a single templar stumbled through. He looked surprised to see people in the courtyard. "Back!" he shouted at us as he shoved his shoulder against the door, slamming it shut once again. "Get back! There are demons loose in the castle!"

Fergus hissed an oath under his breath, but declared, "I am the Teyrn of Highever. What in the Maker's name is going on?"

"My Lord, er, Your Grace!" the templar blurted, arranging himself into some semblance of attention. "The castle is haunted, it has been for months, ever since Howe's men abandoned Highever."

Fergus growled, "The castle is not prepared for my arrival? Why was I not informed?"

The templar swallowed. "Um, the Revered Mother declared the castle proper off limits. No one was permitted to enter."

Fergus clenched his fists, radiating anger. "What of the servants?"

"They were dismissed, my Lord. With the castle sealed, there was no need to keep them on. But when we received word that you were returning, the Revered Mother sent us to cleanse it. There were ghosts before, but now demons roam the halls! We must flee!"

Fergus snarled at the man. "I refuse to allow my ancestral home to house demons!"

I cleared my throat. "Give me a couple of men-at-arms. Take the rest of your men and secure the perimeter while I clear the castle for you. The Fade, the Veil and demons are well within my area of expertise, Fergus. Don't argue with me."

The brothers exchanged glances, and then, in unison, drew their weapons. "A Cousland does not send others to do what they fear to do," Fergus said flatly. "This is our home, and we will defend it."

Captain Francois and the nameless templar decided to argue, however. The Captain in particular spent quite some time trying to convince Fergus to let him send some good men with me instead. I could tell from the set of the Teyrn's chin however that he wouldn't be successful. Eventually, the career military man acquiesced to his immediate commander's instructions, and set about his orders with offended efficiency.

I glanced at each of the brothers, noting the determination in their stances. I grinned and cast a few spells, one shielding me by putting me partially in the Fade, another augmenting my swordsmanship, another hardening my skin and the last temporarily enchanting our weapons with elemental cold. "Have either of you fought demons before?" At their negative responses, I responded, "Well then, my lords, you're in for a real treat. Hunting demons is very, very exhilarating."

The templar didn't appear to want to give up arguing. "Are you insane? You can't just take the Teyrn into a castle full of demons! And you can't go hunting demons without help! You need a legion of templars at least!"

I glanced at him, then dismissed him with a wave of my hand. "Just open the doors and prepare for any survivors we find."

Fergus turned to his brother. "Ready?"

Aedan nodded. "Let's just do this and stop talking about it."

We marched past the trembling, speechless templar and into the castle. Once the doors behind us were closed, Aedan began shaking.

"What is it, Pup?" Fergus asked.

The younger brother swallowed. "Nothing. I just," he paused, and took a deep breath to still his trembling. "Nothing," he finished forcibly.

I looked Aedan up and down. "What happened exactly?"

He frowned at me. "Nothing! I'm fine," he said hotly.

I shook my head. "No, I mean the night you left here. What happened? I know you don't like to talk about it, but the Veil is thinner in places. Anything you can tell us will help me figure out what to expect."

He opened his mouth with a snarl on his face, but stopped before uttering a word. With a sigh, he said, "Sorry," he said, before swallowing and replying, his voice thick with emotion, "I was asleep in my bedchamber when Shadow woke me. There was an odd noise outside. My," he coughed, gave me an abashed look and continued, "my lover opened the door and was struck with arrows." He took a deep breath. "I killed the men who killed her and joined forces with Mother. We checked on Oriana and Oren, but they had already been…" he looked over at his brother, sympathy etched on his handsome features.

Fergus blinked rapidly, and ran the back of his gauntleted hand across his eyes, leaving red scratches on his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. "What then?" he asked gruffly, his voice thick.

"We fought our way from the Atrium to the Main Hall, looking for Father. A couple of servants joined us, and we killed several of Howe's men." He gestured with a nod towards the arms Fergus bore. "Mother insisted that we collect the Highever sword and shield to prevent Howe from getting his hands on them. In the main hall we found Ser Gilmore holding the main doors fast. He said that Father was dead; he'd witnessed him being struck down with a knife to the back."

"Oh, Pup," Fergus said, his voice full of sympathy.

Aedan swallowed. "Ser Gilmore insisted we leave immediately, while he stayed behind to cover our retreat. Mother, Shadow and I led all the servants we could find out the hidden passage in the kitchen. Out of nearly seventy people in the castle that night, only twelve of us escaped alive."

I frowned, thinking hard about where the corruption would be centred. "Those bedchambers - who did they belong to?"

"Everyone. Our entire family had chambers off the one antechamber. Mother and Father had the master suite, I had one, and the last belonged to Fergus and Oriana." His eyes flicked over to his brother. "And Oren. He stayed with his mother that night. Mother's friend Lady Landra stayed in one of the guest chambers, and I think her son Dairren was in the other, but I never saw him in the battle."

Fergus took a deep breath, and let it out with a rush. "What does that mean?" he demanded of me.

I pursed my lips together. "It means that there are two probable places for the centre of the corruption. The spot where your father died, and the room where your family died. I can sense more than one powerful demon nearby. I suspect they are Desire Demons, given the events here." I reached out and grabbed Fergus by his shoulder. "You will likely be tempted with illusions. At a guess, I'd say you will see your wife and child, alive and well. Be prepared for that. It will be a lie." I reached out to include Aedan. "You will likely see your parents as well. Remember that they are not real, despite the fact that you will be able to see, hear and even smell them."

Fergus nodded with a sharp jerk. "Understood."

I doubted it, but nodded anyway. "Let's get to work then."

We worked surprisingly well together, with Fergus and I the armoured rocks behind which Aedan launched lethally accurate arrows. With Thunder and Shadow flanking us and my magic only used to initially tear enemy formations apart, we made short work of the numerous, but relatively weak demonic forces. We killed a hunger demon in the chapel and clashed with a revenant on the spot where Aedan had been told his father had been struck down. Neither presented any particular difficulty to a group so well equipped and skilled, though Aedan did let out a girlish shriek of surprise when he was pulled through the air by the revenant. I protected him with an impenetrable field of force as he recovered his wits, while Fergus hacked away at the unholy creature with Thunder and Shadow at his side, both crushing undead limbs in their jaws.

Fergus was a skilled, if unimaginative warrior, taking no risks and not straying from his strict, formal training. His stances and strikes had a precision borne of many long hours on the practice field and studying duelling theory, rather than extensive life-and-death melee. His strength was in defence, allowing his exceptional shield to soak up damage, before striking exactly when and where he should. Solid and dependable.

Aedan was brilliant with his bow and, when forced to drop it, lethal in close combat with his short bladed swords. He moved as though he owned the battlefield, pouncing and striking with the same sort of accuracy as his brother, but with ugly, unchivalrous strikes learned in back-alleys and brawls. His defences were not strong - I had to heal several minor cuts - which suggested that he was used to shorter contests of small numbers, rather than large battles. Fast and unpredictable.

They were not as skilled a pair as Alistair and Zevran, or Sten and Leliana, but then, very few people were.

A dozen or so dead templars littered the castle, though we did find a few still resisting. One even offered to join us, but I turned his offer down, not trusting that he wouldn't drain me at an inopportune moment. Fergus barked orders to regroup at the main entrance to the hall, and we continued on our way, easily butchering the fire-based demons with our cold-infused weapons.

With the main part of the castle cleared, we began ascending a gentle ramp towards an atrium. After a sharp left, we encountered a few more rage demons, and an open door to an antechamber. Aedan gestured at the doors to either side. "Guest bedrooms, the door ahead leads to the family's chambers. He glanced at his brother, his expression questioning.

Fergus nodded. "I'm ready Pup."

Aedan nodded back. "Let's do this."

I nodded. "All right. Thunder, hold back until I say. Er, Shadow, you too, please. Demons don't show their full strength at first. We need to draw them out before hitting them hard."

Thunder gave an enthusiastic bark of acceptance. Shadow looked to Aedan first, but also gave an agreeable bark at his master's nod. Slowly, we made our way closer to the heart of the corruption. Both war-hounds growled at a closed, oak door.

With his jaw clenched with determination, Fergus reached out and turned the handle.

"Boys? My boys! You're alive!"

Fergus and Aedan stiffened as the gaped at the solitary figure. Standing in the antechamber servicing three bedchambers stood a handsome man of late-middle years, dressed in fine noble clothing and sporting the Highever symbol on his breast.

"F-father?" Fergus breathed, hesitating.

"Demon," I reminded him in a sing-song voice, conjuring a shard of stone and sending it hurtling at the figure.

The demon wearing Bryce Cousland's form grimaced, accepted the blow and staggered back a few steps, its expression twisting into an inhuman rictus. "Fools!" it spat in a voice that echoed in a way no human voice could manage.

It raised its arms and muttered a few words. Several pools of living flame appeared on the stone floor, and spindly arms reached through each, dragging a formless body of fire into the world. I raised my hands and blasted a pair of them with a frigid cone of magic, freezing them solid. "Thunder! Tackle!"

Thunder bolted straight through the demons of fire, barrelling the figure of Bryce Cousland to the floor and worrying at its throat.

The doors to the two bedchambers on either side of the room opened, and demons stepped through. To our left, the demon had taken the form of an elf maiden, pretty and delicate. On our right, an attractive human female with braided hair, her features a little more exotic than the typical Fereldan noblewoman.

Both brothers hesitated for a second, but both entered the fray with determination. The elf was struck by several arrows from Aedan's bow, while Fergus refused to look at the human woman, focusing on hacking the rage demons into tiny pieces.

It was a difficult battle, restricted as we were by the lack of cover, limited manoeuvring room and the multitude of enemies. My magic was sufficient to significantly weaken the demon wearing the human female form before I was obliged to engage it. As I pushed Spellweaver's tip into its heart, it scrabbled at my arm. It's dark, filthy claws opened a pair of gashes on the unarmoured underside of my forearm. It lost its human form as it died, turning back into a Desire Demon. By the time the last demon fell to Fergus' blade, we were all panting with effort.

Aedan knelt over the demon still in his elvish lover's form, which also began shifting back to its base form. "Iona, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I couldn't protect you."

I frowned, a faint tickling in my memory, but dismissed it as unimportant at this instant. "Catch your breath, we're not done here."

Fergus jerked his head around at me. "What? Where else is there-"

The door to the master suite opened, and a short, slight figure stood in the exact centre of the doorway. "Father? Uncle?"

The Teyrn whimpered, unable to speak. Aedan whispered, "Oren?"

I mentally cursed as Fergus' defences disappeared, his sword point dropping to the floor. He started to move forward. With a grunt of effort, I dropped a field of force around him, preventing him from taking another step. My knees began trembling at the magic use. I dropped a hand to my bandoleer and slid out a bright-blue potion. I downed it in one go. It wouldn't do to take on a powerful demon while weak and drained.

"What did you do that for?" Fergus barked at me, his face mottled with rage, one hand out and hammering at my barrier. "Release me at once!"

"It's a demon, Fergus," I said wearily.

"I-" he started, before dropping his hand. "Are you sure?" he asked, turning back, his voice filled with longing.

I swapped Spellweaver over to my left hand and curled my right to let blood from my cut arm pool in my palm. Calling forth the innate power of my tainted blood, I lobbed the crimson liquid at the small form. The blood struck and acted like acid on the demonic flesh, the illusion no protection. Oren's features split and his skin ran like wax down a burning candle. He morphed into a tall, coldly beautiful Desire Demon, visibly taller than the others we'd seen. "Yup," I said probably unnecessarily. "Definitely a demon."

"Such powerful magics for an elf so small," it said, its voice low and seductive.

Fergus muttered curses under his breath. "Maker's breath! Was that… was that Blood Magic!"

I sighed, wanting to luxuriate in the sensation of lyrium flooding my limbs, not defend myself against inconvenient accusations. But events were a little pressing. "Not exactly. Quiet now, I'm busy," I snapped, sizing up the situation. If the demon was alone, we would be fine.

"Would you like more powerful magics? Think of all you could do; think of all the armoured knights of the Chantry you could kill," she whispered, her voice pitched to carry.

"Are you ready? The protective field will fail soon," I said to the Couslands.

Aedan blinked at me. "Do you, um, want to kill templars?"

I shook my head. "_Not now_. Ignore it. Are you ready?"

He nodded, notching an arrow and drawing a bead on the demon.

The demon did not seem fussed at all that I was ignoring it, nor at Aedan's visible threat. "Such handsome boys. Your wife loved you, you know. Would you like to see her again?"

Fergus trembled, but held his shield steady and his sword ready.

My spell failed. "Now," I shouted.

The demon clapped its hands, sending out a pulse of magic that bowled Shadow over and halted Thunder's charge. My big mabari left claw marks on the stone floor a foot long as he was shoved backwards. I felt the shockwave wash over me, but stayed on my feet. Neither brother was so lucky, Fergus fell hard and awkwardly, yelping loudly, though Aedan managed to roll backwards and rose into a crouch, discarding the arrow that had splintered on contact with the ground.

I petrified the demon, relieved that it failed to resist. I then dropped one of my more potent spells on it, crushing it in a prison of vicious force. I readied Spellweaver, and set about hacking at the petrified figure.

Fergus joined me, screaming a defiant war-cry.

It was over quickly. Fergus' third rage-fuelled swing decapitated the demon before my spell dissipated. The demon gave one final, psychic scream before fading away, sent back to the Fade. I sheathed Spellweaver with a satisfied nod. "That's the lot, I think."

Fergus dropped to one knee, sheathing his blade. He dropped his shield hand to his side and gulped deep breaths. "Are you sure?" he got out through his gasps. He pulled off his right gauntlet and wiped the sweat from his brow and tears from his eyes.

I closed my eyes, searching for corruption. "Yes. I can't feel any demons close by. But there will be more eventually, if I don't repair the Veil." I reached out my hand to Fergus. "Are you all right?"

He took it, rising back to his feet with a grunt. "I'll be fine. What did you mean by, 'not exactly', exactly?"

I sighed. "Avernus told you he was researching ways for our blood to be used against demons and darkspawn," I said carefully. "Well, he developed a way for the taint in my blood to harm them."

"What about humans?" Fergus challenged. "Does it harm us too?"

I pointed down at his hand. He glanced down, seeing my blood smeared on his palm. "You tell me."

"Oh," he said simply.

Aedan swallowed, unstringing his bow. "Enough, brother. Whatever argument you have with her, this is not the time. Kathryn, what do you need to do? To fix the Veil, I mean."

"The best thing is to destroy whatever is calling to the demons. Burning is best. But lyrium will help. Can you go and ask the Chantry for all they can spare? And then ask them for what they can't spare."

He nodded, flashing me a grin that washed away my fatigue. "I will be back as soon as I can. You can burn anything in my room there. There's nothing I want."

Fergus watched as his brother and Shadow disappeared. "What would have happened had that really been Oren?" he asked in a whisper. "With the blood, I mean."

I sighed, suppressing a wince. "Nothing. It would have run down his skin," I lied. "But that wasn't Oren, he'd have been at least a year older than you remember."

Fergus blinked. "Oh, right." He winced, clutching at his side. "I think I've bruised my rib."

I waved a hand, washing healing energy over the affected area. I wasn't a great healer, but I'd had more practise with field-healing over the past year than most life-long healers in the Circle. Besides, ribs were easy. "There you go. How do you feel?"

He tenderly touched at his side, no longer grunting with pain. "Adrift, Kathryn. Adrift," he whispered.

o_ooo000ooo_o

AN: Thank you to my reviewers - Isabeau of Greenlea and Girl-chama (x4) - I appreciate them very much.


	6. The traditional homecoming brawl, part 1

disclaimer type=standard

Anything you recognise is Bioware's. I daresay anything else belongs to them too.

/disclaimer

o_ooo000ooo_o

"Adrift? What did he mean by that?" Cassandra demanded.

Kathryn tilted her head slightly. "Exactly that. I didn't understand at the time either. Things he had been brought up to believe in were in the process of being challenged. Maleficarum - bad. Oh, wait. The only pair he'd ever conversed with were both concerned with the safety of Thedas as a whole, researching new and inventive ways to kill evil. One of them had been at it for centuries, while evidently not harming anyone. Chantry - good. Oh, wait. The Revered Mother who held him on his naming day sold the Cousland family out the moment it looked as though they were lost."

"That is a very simplistic view, Warden."

"True, but Fergus is quite a simple man. Not stupid, I'd have given my left eye for his education, but... simple. He believed he knew what was right, and he encountered things that weren't. He believed he knew what was wrong, and likewise."

Cassandra crossed her arms. "So he changed his opinion to an almost diametrically opposing view? That mages and magic were good?"

Kathryn slapped her palm to her face. "Dear Maker, you are dense sometimes. Would you please let go of your own damned prejudices and look at it from his point of view?"

The Seeker opened her mouth to retort, but stopped, drew in a deep breath and let it out. What exactly had Teyrn Fergus seen in those weeks with the Warden? She had threatened him on meeting him, and then offended him with her woeful manners. No, that was irrelevant.

He had seen her use magic to casually wipe out a force the size of his own escort. That had terrified him.

No... That wasn't right...

He had seen her wipe out a terrifying force of nightmares invading his lands. While protecting his own soldiers.

Cassandra's eyes widened. From the Teyrn's point of view, both were valid, but if he had held one before and the other afterwards...

In that one trip, the Warden had protected his lands, and his soldiers, from a visible and pervasive threat. She had saved his brother's valued mabari. She had proven herself loyal to those who were considered evil, but were doing good work. She had solved a problem of the Chantry's making - she had cleared out his own castle of demons and made it safe, all the while preventing him from injury. She had kept him from being enthralled by a demon.

All that in a short trip home. To have your beliefs challenged by someone to that extent... It was suddenly quite believable that the Teyrn would change his views so abruptly.

"I..." she said weakly. "I think I see."

The elf grunted, a lopsided grin on her face. "Yeah, I could actually see the change in your expression that instant. It was ready to applaud."

Cassandra glared at the unrepentant elf.

"You know, that glare still doesn't work on me."

Another tic. "Evidently not. So, you now had the unequivocal support of the second most powerful man in Ferelden. What happened then?"

"No I didn't. Not at that point, at any rate. Fergus had changed his mind, yes. He decided that having Grey Wardens in Amaranthine would be a good thing, given the incessant darkspawn attacks. He began discussions with his vassals on how to present their support for me at the Landsmeet. But he didn't like me personally. He respected my skill but his support for _me_ didn't really build until after I was made Arlessa. It grew over time, especially during and after the incident with the Architect. He told me himself that no one could have been expected to hold the arling together unaided through such circumstances. That I managed it without requesting help silenced almost all opposition to my elevation to Arlessa."

"I would not have believed it myself," Cassandra replied, pacing back and forth in a space not large enough for such activity, "were it not for my colleague's confidence in your prowess." She paused, tapping her chin with one elegant finger. "It does, however, explain the Teyrn's sudden aloofness he held for the Chantry after the Blight. The Revered Mother at the Highever Chantry was shocked at his sudden change in demeanour."

A large smile appeared on the mage's face. "I'm surprised she didn't accuse me of enthralling Fergus. Especially since he asked her about the Chantry's use of Blood Magic to track and control mages. It was her evasive answers that truly set his opinion against her."

With a slow nod, Cassandra said, "Some did make such accusations against you. Some still do. His support of your ennoblement, then his growing admiration of the way you managed and protected your demesne is seen as evidence by those unwilling to see the truth."

Kathryn gave one of her snorts of amusement. "And just what is the truth, Cassandra?"

She growled in frustration. "That you not only saved the city of Amaranthine but also Vigil's Keep, against two armies of darkspawn. And you did so with only a handful of Wardens."

"What can I say? Grey Wardens are awesome."

"They are also responsible for the deaths of countless innocents!" the Seeker spat. "You personally recruited an apostate away from the templars who had legally apprehended him. That one decision had consequences that rocked the entire continent! He assassinated Grand Cleric Elthina; he used her life force to power the spell that annihilated the Kirkwall Chantry."

The Warden nodded, apparently sympathetic to Cassandra's claim. "It must have been terrifying to discover that a single mage has the power to kill every single person in a Chantry or Cathedral."

Cassandra drew a breath. "Do not give me your false sympathy!"

"False sympathy? I wasn't offering any false sympathy. I happen to feel a great empathy with the Chantry over this," she said, watching the Seeker's reaction. The instant Cassandra appeared to accept that she was telling the truth, she continued, "Now that mages and the Chantry are on even footing, there only need to be sixteen more performances of Anders' ritual and the score will be even on Annulments and Annihilations."

The Seeker was momentarily speechless. "I... You... You cannot believe that!" Such a belief would be disastrous if she was ever going to gain this mage's assistance.

"Why not?" Kathryn challenged. "On one hand we have a single person deciding that an entire group of people are beyond saving and need to be eliminated for the greater good. On the other hand we have... no wait, we have that on both hands."

"You condone his actions?" Cassandra all but screamed, her hopes all but gone.

Kathryn sighed deeply. "No. Had he used Meredith's life force to eliminate the templars, that would be a different matter." She shook her head, scarlet hair swaying back and forth. "I was furious with Anders for what he did, because he destroyed any chance of the reformations at the Ferelden Circle being adopted anywhere." She looked up and stared directly into Cassandra's eyes. "But until you fully understand how templars treat mages in Circles, you simply won't understand his motivation."

Cassandra took a deep breath, suddenly feeling lighter. "I know their frustrations, I have-"

"No. You don't," she said simply. "You think you do, I can see it in your eyes. You believe that the Chantry and the templars do the right thing governing the Circles of Thedas. You believe that. You believe that hard. But you are wrong. Or at least, not entirely correct."

Flushed with rage at the contradiction, Cassandra drew a breath ready to castigate the mage. Talking to her was an emotional ride like a voyage through a storm.

Kathryn held up a hand. "Just wait. Before you explode, just wait. Why don't I tell you what happened when I finally reached the Ferelden Circle? Maybe, just maybe, you'll begin to understand why some mages think they have to kill to be free."

Cassandra let her breath out sharply. "Very well," she said. "Tell me."

o_ooo000ooo_o

I spent a few days in Highever after repairing the Veil. I created some potions to refill my bandoleer, and did all the tedious but essential maintenance work on my armour. Several of Fergus' Banns stopped by to reaffirm their vow of allegiance, or try and explain why they'd broken said vow and supported Howe. Some lost their lands to different family branches, some didn't. It seemed quite random to me, though Aedan assured me that there were valid, political reasons behind the decisions.

While Thunder and I wandered the streets of Highever, healing the odd family breadwinner, running the odd errand for the Mages' Collective and looting the odd body of any idiot who tried mugging us, Fergus cleaned house. The Revered Mother of Highever was forcibly expelled from the Chantry and the teyrnir, told to sod off and not come back. The priests on the City Council were sacked, his personal spiritual advisor sent to Denerim and the templars all rounded up and questioned as to their involvement in the unlawful executions of Highever citizens.

It warmed my heart, it really did.

Captain Francois was directed to continue escorting me to Kinloch Hold and then onto Orzammar. The Captain, with his usual efficiency, had a smaller squad provisioned and prepared to leave four mornings after our arrival. Fergus even provided me with a horse, so that I was not required to walk. A fact that my bottom and thighs would have been cursing, had it not been for the glorious existence of healing spells. I did feel a bit odd, being the only mounted traveller in the group, but the Captain assured me that marching along behind a mounted noble was a very common duty for a guard.

The trip down to the old Avvar tower was unremarkable. No bandits or darkspawn attacks, though there was evidence that there had been both about recently. We found both darkspawn and bandit corpses in one spot, so presumably two irritants had managed to cancel each other out. I burned everything, after checking for valuables, of course.

We were met outside the docks by a group of four soldiers and a familiar man. I'd met him in Denerim a few times, while speaking with Eamon, or with Anora. His name was William Larkworthy; quite possibly the most inappropriate name in history. He was one of Eamon's agents, and there was no evidence that he had ever smiled in his entire life. As always, he looked neat. Neat shoes, neat clothing, neat moustache. A quintessential fusspot.

The fussy little man bowed to me as we neared. "Warden-Commander, it is a pleasure to see you again. My lord, the Arl of Redcliffe, has instructed me to conduct the negotiations with the templars on his behalf."

I nodded. "William, likewise. I should have guessed Eamon would send you."

My deliberate lack of manners didn't faze him. Nothing ever appeared to faze him. "Just so. My escort and I arrived three days ago, but we have been denied access to Kinloch Hold. I trust that you have the ability to gain access."

I looked down the hill towards the lake. The ferry was moored just where it always had been, only there was once again a templar on the pier instead of the ferryman. I turned away and back to my escort.

"Of course," I replied, with more confidence than I felt. "Captain, Thunder and I are going over to the island. Take William and your men to the Spoiled Princess and give them the night to themselves. Hopefully I can convince Greagoir to open the doors tomorrow morning, and we can leave for Orzammar. However, don't be surprised if we are here for a few days."

Captain Francois saluted. "As you wish, Warden-Commander. Sergeant! Get the men billeted. Ambassador, if you would join us?"

"Of course, Captain Francois." He turned back to me. "Until tomorrow, Warden-Commander," he finished with a bow.

With that, my escort left me and took the ambassador into the lakeside tavern. I waited until they were inside before beginning my preparations. I cast spells that hardened my skin, made me stronger, shielded me from damage and boosted my spells power. Holding that many spells in place was tiring but it was - when entering a potentially dangerous situation – necessary. The effects were striking - blue mist wafted from my partially transparent body. It never failed to freak people out, but despite my armour, there was no mistaking me for a mage.

As an afterthought, I liberally coated Spellweaver's blade with one of Zevran's potent concoctions. Preparations complete, I began making my way down the slope to the lake's edge. As Thunder and I approached the templar on the pier, I felt my hands clench involuntarily. Thunder picked up on my tension, and I noticed his hackles rising.

I hate templars.

He was silent right up until I reached the pier. "State your name and business," he said, his warbling voice betraying his youth.

"My name is Kathryn Surana. I require passage to the tower."

The armoured boy crossed his arms defiantly. "By order of the Knight-Commander, no one is allowed access to the Circle without his express permission," he said, and I could hear the sneer that the helmet concealed.

"Well that is good news," I said cheerfully. "Why don't you get in your little boat, row on over and tell Greagoir that a Circle mage is here requesting entrance. Then you can row back and pick me up. Once you row me across to the island, you can then row all the way back." I smiled winsomely at him. "Or, why don't I jump in the boat with you now? That will save you making two trips."

"I don't think you heard me," he said, trying to growl.

Thunder showed him how a professional does it. The low, threatening rumble and bared teeth caused the templar to step back involuntarily and reach for his weapon.

"Stop!" I commanded, causing both dog and boy to freeze. I placed a hand on Thunder's collar. "Down, boy. And as for you, don't draw your weapon on a war hound unless you want your life to become extremely, painfully and terminally interesting."

"You can't threaten me!" he declared, despite the evidence to the contrary.

I shrugged. "It's your funeral." I let go of the collar and crossed my arms.

Thunder had obviously picked up a flair for the dramatic. He resumed growling, taking slow, deliberate steps along the wooden pier. The young templar stepped back at the same rate, holding out one hand to placate Thunder while the other hand hovered over the hilt of his greatsword. "Good dog! Nice dog! Er, sit! Stay!"

Thunder continued his implacable advance. I was just considering how amusing it would be to watch a templar initiate fall backwards into the frigid, inky waters of Lake Calenhad when he shouted, "All right! I'll take you!"

"You templars are learning," I pointed out. "Slowly, to be sure, but you are learning. The last time I was here, Carroll was on duty, and he only agreed to take me and my friends across after we directly threatened to kill him and just take the boat."

"Er," the templar said ineloquently while trembling, "you realise that even if I take you across, you still won't be permitted access to the tower itself?"

I shrugged. "One step at a time. And you, my over-zealous friend, are merely the first step. Come on, let's go, the sun has set and it's going to be pitch dark soon."

With that, I strode along the pier past him and jumped lightly into the small boat. I adjusted Spellweaver and sat down. Thunder followed me, pausing momentarily to glare at my new friend, before leaping in after me. The templar climbed in after us, his hands still shaking as they reached for the oars. "Um, your dog isn't going to, um..."

I chuckled for a moment. "Not unless you do something monumentally stupid like try to Smite me."

"Right. Okay, ah, I can't perform a Holy Smite yet, so, er..."

I sighed. "Just row the boat, initiate. The faster you get me to the island, the faster you'll be away from me."

The crossing was quite possibly done in record time. The boat arrived at the island so quickly in fact that the templar assigned to manage the docks was still running from the watch house as we hit the pier. Thunder and I were out of the boat before our welcoming committee reached the shore.

"Halt! You are trespassing!" screamed the templar, sounding a bit winded. "Aaron, what in the Maker's name are you doing bringing someone here unauthorised?" he continued, sounding even more aggrieved at his fellow than at me.

I cleared my throat. "I am a Circle mage; you don't have the authority to keep me out."

"I don't remember y- Maker's breath! What manner of magic is this?" he blurted as I stepped into the light cast by the torches around the pier. I suppose a semi-transparent, armoured elf standing in the midst of a cloud of gaseous mana was not on his list of things to see today.

"Is there a problem?" I asked politely. "It's dark, it's cold, and I need to speak to Irving."

The templar coughed. "Circle mages do not dress so," he said weakly.

"If you can't feel my magic, you don't belong in the order. Don't let the sword and armour fool you," I snapped. "I'm here on official business."

The templar scoffed. "And what business would that be?" he demanded, stepping forward, presumably in an attempt to tower over and intimidate me.

Thunder began his signature growl. Low, deep, menacing. Anyone hearing it felt the hairs on their neck rise. With each step the templar took towards me, the growl increased in volume. After only three steps, the templar stopped his advance. Carefully, he stepped backwards. Each step resulted in Thunder growling a little softer.

Once everyone was quiet again, I replied, "My business is exactly that. My. Business. It is not of any concern to two inconsequential doormen. Now, get out of my way."

Recognising that he was not exactly in the position of power he was accustomed to, the templar's attitude abruptly changed. "Look, er, if you are a Circle mage, can you prove it? We really aren't allowed to let anyone into the tower unless they're authorised."

The fact I was literally steaming magic wasn't enough for him? "No."

"Er, right," he stammered, looking a bit harried. "Um, look, I'll take you up to see the Knight-Commander. Can you leave your dog here?"

"You clearly don't know anything about mabari if you think Thunder would let me be alone in a threatening situation."

Thunder barked an agreement.

"Er, right," he repeated, sounding even more miserable. "Look, we're really not meant to let anyone in. Not without the Knight-Commander's permission," he whimpered, as though being thoroughly pathetic would be all it took to make me change my mind.

"Well, I suppose you could draw your weapon and try to stop me. That won't prevent me from entering either, you realise, but you won't need to suffer a lecture from Greagoir afterwards. That's a plus, isn't it?"

o_ooo000ooo_o

Greagoir had aged quite considerably in the last year. He was still as abrupt as ever, however. "Ah, Kathryn Surana. I should have expected that you would barge your way back into the Tower uninvited."

I glared at the man, refusing to show any subservience. "Greagoir. Your hospitality is just as warm as I remember. Where is Irving?"

"The First Enchanter is indisposed," he snapped. "You, however, will surrender your weapons and armour and go with Marcus." One templar snapped his head towards Greagoir and nodded, before starting towards me.

I glanced around the entry hall, noting templar numbers and positions. Bluffing templars too stupid to get out of guard duty was a little different than persuading Greagoir to allow me through into the tower. I was confident in my abilities, but if a fight broke out it would only take one of the templars to strip my spell protections to leave me in a very dubious position. "No thank you, I believe I'll just hold onto them until my business is complete."

One of the few helmet-less templars stepped forward, a sneer on his face. "The Knight-Commander gave you an order, mage."

I snorted in defiance. "Greagoir does not have the authority to compel my obedience, much less the capability. I ask again, where is Irving?"

Greagoir's eye twitched, but he remained superficially civil. "As I said, the First Enchanter is indisposed. And in the name of the Grand Cleric of Ferelden, I am placing you back under the authority of the Circle of Magi."

"Like I care about what that old biddy thinks," I muttered, not bothering to keep my voice down. "You know that I am a Grey Warden, Greagoir. It doesn't matter what she says, you do not have the authority to arrest me."

Gasps of offence echoed through the hall, and Greagoir's eyes narrowed. "What is it you want, Warden?" he asked, sounding curious.

"I wish to discuss your treasonous disregard for a royal proclamation. The Queen announced in front of the assembled Landsmeet that the Circle of Magi was to be given independence from the Chantry."

He waved my statement away. "The crown has no authority in the matter."

I waved a finger at him. "Now, now, Greagoir, you know that isn't strictly true. The crown retains certain obligations over all its subjects, including the obligation to protect them from abuses."

Greagoir sneered at me. "The Crown of Ferelden and every other nation ceded responsibility for mages to the Chantry. This, I'm sure, you are fully aware of."

I shrugged. "Would you care to discuss it in the First Enchanter's study? I am here on behalf of the King and Queen, and I am not leaving without speaking to Irving. Or would you prefer me to invoke the Right of Conscription on every mage in the Circle between the ages of fifteen and fifty?"

Somewhere within the shouts of outrage, denial and denunciation, a templar decided to raise his arms and call down a Holy Smite on me. I missed it amid the chaotic noise, though Thunder's sharp ears did not. My mabari friend had seen Alistair in action many, many times, and knew exactly what was happening. He bunched and, in a scatter of claws on stone, launched himself at the templar. Before the short ritual could be complete, Thunder crashed into him and locked his jaws around the templar's throat, knocking the armoured man down in a metallic symphony. A sudden crimson spray signaled the change from clear, terrified shrieks to a bubbling gurgle.

o_ooo000ooo_o

"Bullshit! You expect me to believe that a templar of the Chantry tried to Smite you for no other reason than your presence?" Cassandra exploded.

"Yes," the Warden snapped back. "You claim to want to know the truth. Well, there it is. If you can't handle the truth, maybe you need to find a new line of work."

The Seeker crossed her arms, still quivering in anger. "I do not believe you, Warden. No templar capable of calling forth a Holy Smite would be so ill-disciplined as to attack a Royal messenger."

"Ah, but I wasn't a Royal messenger."

"What?"

Kathryn shrugged. "I wasn't a Royal messenger. I was a mage who had just defied the orders of the Knight-Commander."

Cassandra stopped. A terrible thought occurred. "Ah."

Kathryn grinned nastily. "Yes. _Ah_."

Cassandra stood stock still, unwelcome thoughts running through her mind. Mages were dangerous. This was not an article of faith, but a point of fact. The templars trained to handle them were given certain leeway to ensure safety. Mages were expected to obey instructions from their templar chaperones at all times.

Kathryn continued. "Did you know that some templars volunteer for Circle duty because they hate mages? I don't mean _dislike_. I mean _loathe_. Maybe as a kid they pulled some little girl's pigtails and got their hair set on fire. Maybe their parents taught them those Maker-blessed virtues of hatred, intolerance and bigotry. Whatever. But when those templars finally arrive at the Circle and discover that all mages must obey their instructions at all times or be punished, having your orders obeyed by mages becomes a habit. And like all habits, they're hard to break. Having them broken for you makes people pissed. So what do you think happens when a mage who doesn't have to listen to them comes along? Well, I'll tell you!"

o_ooo000ooo_o

Every templar in the room went for their weapon.

The only thought in my mind as I watched the red spray coat the floor was, 'Bugger, that tears it'. I threw a fireball at the highest concentration of templars, and then drew Spellweaver. The instant my sword was in hand, I hurled an awful spirit curse at the only templar I could see holding a bow, even though he was still smouldering from my previous spell.

Well, that was two spells off and no one else had tried to Smite me. Lucky, lucky me.

Greagoir was screaming at everyone to stop. Ignoring him, five helmeted goons closed to sword-swinging distance from me; I lashed out with a concussive blast of mental energy, confounding all templars within weapons range, with one notable exception. Greagoir himself.

The Knight-Commander, having shrugged off my mental assault, gave up trying to stop the violence and raised his arms to Smite me. A piercing howl echoed through the hallways. Every templar flinched, the sound even disrupting Greagoir's concentration. I made a quick vow to give Thunder a meaty bone for dinner. Perhaps even an entire cow.

Frustrated with his lack of success, the Knight-Commander set his face into a mask of determination. He drew his sword and attacked with a gigantic overhead smash. I met his blade with my own, employing a technique Oghren had once shown me – catch the descending blade and half-turn to one side, diverting the blow down to overbalance your opponent. I thrust my arm back, and immensely enjoyed the feeling of Greagoir's nose breaking under my elbow. He staggered back, blood and snot running over his mouth and chin.

A bark, a terrified scream and another resounding crash of metal on stone indicated that Thunder had moved on from his first chew toy and picked a new plaything. I sank into a defensive stance. There were dozens of templars in the Hall. Why no Smites? The first thing templars did when attacking a mage was hit them with a Smite.

Greagoir shook his head and assumed a defensive stance, this time readying his shield as well. I pointed Spellweaver at him and shot a powerful lightning spell into his chest, almost point blank. The deadly spell arced along his armour and shot away, forking again and again, striking templars one way then the next.

More templars charged me, though only one made it unscathed through the swarm of lightning tendrils. He screamed defiantly, swinging his axe in an undisciplined arc. Had it hit, it would have decapitated me. But it was a move designed for the practice field, where one was striking at an unmoving post. I ducked under the blow and struck with my own sword at his unprotected legs. The purple kilt parted under my blow, which all but took the man's leg off. He went down in a screaming heap, Zevran's poison on the blade sapping his strength, adding to his agony.

The other templars in blade range were struggling, seeming unused to fighting in a coordinated manner. Even so, I was outnumbered and could only use spells with extremely short casting times. I swung Spellweaver around at eye level to buy me a second or two from the nearest templars. Every one of them jumped back like scalded kittens. I lowered my shoulder and charged at Greagoir; he was the most potent threat and had to be neutralised. Short as I was, I hit him low down near his centre of gravity. He went over onto his backside with a grunt and found a sharp piece of metal at his throat an instant later. He let go of his blade in surrender, the well-used sword clattering on the stone floor.

"ENOUGH!" a voice roared, accompanied with a pulse of magic. Even through the chaos of melee, it carried enough authority that all the still-standing templars paused.

Even with my sword at his throat, Greagoir turned to stare. "Irffing! Whad ah you doind?" he said, his words hampered by his recent nasal adjustment.

The First Enchanter stepped forward calmly and sent an azure surge of healing at the screaming templar whose leg I almost severed. "Apparently, I am saving your life, my friend. Kathryn, please put your weapon away."

"Why?" I snapped, my blood still pounding in my ears. "To make it easier for these bastards to shove a sword through my chest?"

His dulcet tones still carried immeasurable calm and patience. "No one is going to harm you, Kathryn. Please, put your weapon away."

I snorted. "I'll only believe that if I hear it from Greagoir himself," I snapped, pushing the edge of my sword hard enough to leave a deep indentation in his skin. Any lateral movement by either of us would end up with him bleeding out. I deliberately chose Greagoir's own words from the first time I'd returned to the Circle as a Warden.

"Greagoir?" Irving asked mildly as he sent a healing spell at the Knight-Commander. Honestly, I could not believe how calm the man was as he drifted around the hall, dispensing healing and rejuvenation spells like sweets. Even in the midst of carnage he kept his demeanour level.

There was a muted, grinding crunch as the damage done to his beak was healed. Nose repaired, the Knight-Commander spat out a gob of bloody phlegm and screamed, "You can't be serious! She attacked us! She's signed her own death warrant!"

I'd just decided to drag Spellweaver's razor edge across the Knight-Commander's throat when Irving quickly replied, "And just how many of your templars are you prepared to sacrifice to enact that sentence, old friend? From the looks of things, you may not have enough."

That was true enough. My fireball had knocked down all who stood at one end of the hall and immolated at least four. Many others were only just now shaking off their torpor from my mental and electrical assaults. Thunder had torn the throat out of his second templar and currently had the leg of a whimpering third in his jaws. The one templar who had wielded the bow was hiding behind one of the thick stone columns, out of sight, silently writhing and clutching at his chest as my insidious spell ate him from the inside.

Irving sighed. "I count seven deaths, Greagoir. Will you compound your error?"

"Eight," I said, my eyes still on Greagoir.

Irving paused. "No my dear, there are only…" he said, before being cut off by a small cry and a gory explosion that painted infected blood and entrails all over the floor and walls.

"Eight," I repeated.

Irving swallowed. "I… see," he said wearily, shoulders slumping with defeat. "Could you ask your magnificent hound to release his victim? Preferably before blood loss and shock make it nine?"

I continued to glare at Greagoir for a second or two, but nodded. "Thunder? Drop him, boy. I promise that you can play with him again later if he's naughty."

Thunder released his playmate, giving me a satisfied "Whuff!" before licking sticky red blood from his chops. The templar scrabbled away as best he could with three functioning limbs along a stone floor slick with blood. Thunder trotted over to me and sat at my side, glaring threateningly at the Knight-Commander.

"Who's a good boy?" I asked.

"Whuff!" he barked, happiness incarnate.

"Will you lower your weapon now, Kathryn?"

I shook my head. "Not until I hear the words from Greagoir here," I insisted with a snarl.

Irving sighed, but looked down at the Knight-Commander. "Well, Greagoir? Do you wish for this unfortunate incident to spiral out of control completely?"

Greagoir's eyes blazed with righteous fury.

Irving sighed at the delay. "Greagoir, she has depleted your forces by a quarter, and is completely uninjured. Should you decide to be defiant, she will kill you, and with the deaths of Marcus and Morag, there is only one other templar in the Tower with the ability to Smite. I beg you, please, stand down."

I kept my face as blank as possible, but the news that hardly any of the templars could Smite a mage was a shock. What was going on?

The Knight-Commander still looked defiant and angry that I'd been told about the weakness of his position, but eventually he nodded. "Fine. I guarantee the Grey Warden safe harbour until sunrise tomorrow, but only while her weapon is sheathed," he snarled, his tone begging me to continue to fight.

I was tempted to still kill him, but Greagoir had always kept his word. It was the one thing I admired about the man. I lowered the blade slowly. "Agreed."

Irving smiled at us as though we were a pair of bickering children. "There. All sorted. Keili? Petra? Please summon some more mages and begin healing the wounded. I shall escort our visitor to my office." He held out a hand to the Knight-Commander. "Are you severely injured, Greagoir?"

Greagoir ignored the offered hand, and stood up under his own power. He wiped the blood on his lips away with the back of his hand. "This is not over, Warden. The deaths here today will be avenged."

Thunder grumbled his displeasure at the implied threat. I simply shrugged. "I suspect you'll try. You'll have to decide yourself just how many lives your pride is worth."

Irving sighed. "Children! That is enough! Greagoir, you are in no position to continue to issue threats. And Kathryn, I expected much better of you. Your actions today bring great shame to you and to the Grey Wardens."

I just looked at Irving, idly wondering when - given our recent history - he thought his approval was of any interest to me at all.

* * *

><p>Irving slowly lowered his body down in to the soft leather. "Ah, that's better. Please, both of you, sit down."<p>

I nodded and selected the chair closest to me. I reached into my travelling pack, and withdrew the diplomatic satchel. Dropping the pack on the floor next to the chair, I said down with the diplomatic satchel on my knees. Greagoir glared at me, but sat down as well.

"Now," Irving began, looking intently at me. "Perhaps you can tell us what was so important that you felt it necessary to kill a full quarter of the templars stationed here, hmm?"

I shook my head. "You'll have to ask Greagoir that. I am here because Alistair and Anora are concerned with things at the Circle. They proclaimed the independence of the mages, and yet the Chantry not only ignored the proclamation, they locked the doors, shuttered the windows and prevented anyone from visiting." I looked pointedly at Irving. "Alistair hasn't received a single missive from you since before you arrived back at the Tower after the Battle of Denerim. For all he knew, the templars had invoked the Right of Annulment."

"Preposterous," Greagoir scoffed.

Irving glanced at his old friend. "I would have said so myself, Greagoir, had I not personally handed you my weekly reports to the Crown for your review. If those have indeed gone astray, and all other attempts at contact had failed, I can quite readily imagine that His Majesty would send a rather less diplomatic messenger."

I looked at Greagoir and raised an eyebrow. "Intercepting Royal mail is a hanging offence."

The Knight-Commander crossed his arms defiantly. "I was under instruction from the Divine herself."

"Bollocks," I snapped.

His eyes bulged. "I beg your pardon?"

Irving pinched the bridge of his nose. It was a habit I'd seen him do on several occasions when mediating the inconsequential bickering of wayward children.

"That old cow is in Val Royeaux. There is no way she could have found about the Emancipation Proclamation in time to send you an instruction before you started diverting the mail," I said. "So it must have been the other old cow in Denerim who gave the order.

"Show the High Priestesses some respect, girl!"

"No," I said flatly. "Not when they order people to be criminals."

His eyes flashed with anger at me, but he actually looked a bit troubled. "The messenger did come from Denerim," he admitted.

"Oh Greagoir," Irving said sadly. "Is that what this is all about?"

I narrowed my eyes. "What is?"

Greagoir swallowed. "To lock the Tower down, I told Irving that mages were being persecuted."

I barked a mirthless laugh. "How long did you expect that story to last?"

"I expected," he spat, spittle flying from his lips, "that Blessed Divine would have convinced Their Majesties to have changed their minds by now."

Irving cleared his throat. "Does this mean that mages are not being attacked in the streets?"

I snorted and shook my head. "No, quite the opposite, in fact. It's common knowledge that you and twelve other mages stood with the Wardens on top of Fort Drakon to take on the archdemon. It is also common knowledge that the templars and the Grand Bitch herself barricaded themselves into the cathedral during the invasion. People who hid in their locked homes generally survived – the darkspawn don't open doors. But nearly five hundred people tried to seek refuge in the cathedral, thinking that the stone walls would be safer." I shook my head. "They weren't permitted access, even hours before the darkspawn arrived. They were slaughtered like vermin while hammering on the doors, begging to be saved. It was a bloody massacre."

Greagoir swallowed, looking pale.

I glared at him. "So, no, _the mages_ are not being persecuted. Indeed, just about every noble and merchant family in the country is seeking leave to employ a Circle mage or two. And many of them are cutting back on their tithes to the Chantry, on the basis that they did bugger all to fight the Blight, while those dastardly mages that everyone hates actually went toe-to-snout with the big, bad archdemon."

Greagoir shook his head. "Regardless, it makes no difference. Ever since the Tevinters were cast out, magic and those who can use it have been the legal province of the Chantry. The First Justinia made that law in 1:1."

"Only in Orlais, which was the limit of her influence at the time," I interjected.

I got a death glare for my trouble. "It was adopted by all other Andrastean nations within the first age," Greagoir ground out from between clenched teeth. "Nothing Their Majesties say can change that." He shifted in his seat to wag a finger at me. "And if you think I will allow you to simply waltz in here and conscript every mage in the Tower, you are sorely mistaken."

I raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Hypothetically speaking, if I were to invoke the Right, how would you stop me?"

"Do not be obtuse! You know full well that the Wardens can only conscript one mage at a time!"

I smiled at him innocently. "Really? If that is the law, then I'm sure you can tell me exactly where it is recorded."

He blinked. "What do you mean? It's always been so."

I shrugged, noting that Irving also seemed amused. "Actually, it is only a relatively recent tradition, the reason stemming from the rebellion by Sofia Dryden. Maric allowed the Grey Wardens back into Ferelden against the wishes of the Chantry leadership of the time, so Duncan felt it diplomatic to allow the templars to dictate when and how many mages he could recruit. Which was a big, fat zero, until me. But now, with the groundswell of support for ending the Blight in record time, I have no need to continue to observe such an idiotic restriction."

Irving sighed, drawing my attention away from Greagoir's spluttering. "Please, Kathryn, I beg you not to recruit any more from our ranks. The recent unpleasantness has left our numbers depleted. While I have no objection to allowing willing young mages to take up temporary employment opportunities out in the world, we cannot afford to have our numbers whittled any further."

"Well I do!" Greagoir shouted. "I will not allow so much as one mage to leave the tower without a templar escort! And Irving, you know we don't have the manpower any more. If they decide not to return we would have no recourse but to track them down to force them back. That would be a monumental waste of our limited resources."

Another hint to manpower issues in the Chantry. Interesting. It was something to be considered at a later stage. "Well, in that case, Greagoir, I have no choice but to inform you that the King and Queen hereby announce their intention to liberate their subjects that you have imprisoned here that are not under the Chantry's purview."

Greagoir's face flushed bright crimson. "Are you deaf? The mages are the responsibility of the Chantry! Not the Crown!"

I opened the satchel. "I know that. I wasn't referring to them," I said, handing him one of the documents within.

The Knight-Commander frowned, reading his way through the dense legal text. "Preposterous!" he exclaimed.

"Greagoir?" Irving questioned. "What is it?"

"The Tranquil!" he shouted. "The Crown is laying claim to the Tranquil!"

o_ooo000ooo_o

AN: My ebullient thanks to those of you who took the time to review my story - Isabeau of Greenlea, SgtGinger, Bored and Sleepy with Waffles, TheDawgg, MB18932, Nightbrainzz, Iceblack, Arsinoe de Blassenville and Rhagar - I appreciate your words so much.

I have based the way the templars treat the mages on the Milgram and Stanford prison experiments, a pair of rather (in)famous experiments conducted in the '60s and '70s. Milgram found that participants tended to act in conflict with their conscience if instructed to do so by someone perceived as an authority figure. The Stanford experiment involved people being chosen randomly as either prisoners or guards in a faux prison environment, and had to be ended early due to the unexpected way that a third of the 'guards' developed genuine sadistic tendencies.


	7. The art of diplomatic warfare

disclaimer type=standard

Anything you recognise is Bioware's. I daresay anything else belongs to them too.

/disclaimer

o_ooo000ooo_o

Kathryn watched the Seeker intently as she slowly paced back and forth, deep in thought. "You appear troubled, Cassandra."

The Seeker's expression hardened. "The Knight-Commander's initial reports were true, after all. The Ferelden Crown did stake a claim on the Tranquil in the Circle Tower. It wasn't just Greagoir trying to cover his ineptitude."

Kathryn smiled. "While I'm more than willing to talk about anything that makes Greagoir look inept, I honestly didn't think you'd prefer to discuss that rather than my wanton slaughter of helpless, innocent templars," she said, finishing sourly.

Cassandra's expression grew thoughtful. "If you were indeed attacked, then I can understand your actions to defend yourself. I am not sure I believe that you were as blameless as you claim, but your version of events is not unsupported by evidence. I find myself morbidly curious as to how you account for the subsequent casualties that occurred before you left."

The Warden eyed her closely. "Oh, I'll get to that, believe me. But you know why I ended that ambush without a scratch, don't you?"

The Seeker gave a sharp nod. "I do know."

The elf raised an eyebrow. "And? What do you think about it?"

"You wish my opinion?" She paused. "I think it was an unintended consequence of a brilliant military strategy."

"Interesting," Kathryn murmured with a smile. "Objectively, I agree with you. Of course, as a citizen of the nation the military action was targeting, I have a different point of view."

"No doubt. But we were talking about your bloody arrival at Kinloch Hold. How did the others die?"

Kathryn raised a hand. "In a moment. I want to know if _you_ know why Greagoir attacked me? Why he ordered me disarmed and stripped?"

The Seeker's eyes narrowed. "I have a suspicion. I have no evidence to support it, however."

"Yeah, it's hard to find written evidence of verbal instructions."

Cassandra grunted in agreement. "Regardless, your eager recounting of the deaths of innocent templar initiates is disturbing, Warden."

Kathryn appeared to consider that. "I suppose it is. Is there anything else before I continue my tale?"

"I need to know about this claim you made on the Tranquil."

"I suppose Anora denied it was her idea."

Cassandra actually gave a short, humourless bark of laughter. "Ha! She insisted that any such claim was manufactured by you alone and did not have Royal approval. I did not believe her."

Kathryn shook her head and laughed out loud. "Ah, that woman. She always assumes that she is smarter than whoever she's talking to."

"So she did stake a claim?"

"She and Alistair gave me a signed document giving me royal authority to remove the Tranquil from Chantry oversight, yes, but I was never meant to actually enact the order."

The Seeker paused her pacing. "What?" she asked with a frown.

Kathryn grinned cheekily. "Let me explain."

o_ooo000ooo_o

"Laying claim?" I questioned, waving a finger at him. "Tut, tut, Greagoir. They don't want ownership, that's tantamount to condoning _slavery_. The document simply states that they are subjects of the Ferelden crown, and as such they are not _slaves_ for the Chantry to exploit. As you do not pay them a wage, and that you profit mightily from their work, they are by definition '_slaves_' and will be protected from your abuse. I shall be taking them with me tomorrow," I finished, deciding that repeating the word 'slave' would really get stuck in the old man's craw.

"You will not!" he screamed, surging to his feet to tower over me. "They are _mages_, and are thus under the Chantry's purview!"

I turned to the First Enchanter, who was frowning at me. "Irving, do you have a copy of the Justinian Articles in your private library? The first Article, to be precise."

He nodded slowly, raising a hand and pointing to a bookshelf. "I do. It is the leftmost, blue leather tome on the second shelf to your right."

I rose and quickly located the tome. I took it from its place, placed it on Irving's desk, and flipped it open. "The question here is _what exactly defines a mage_. Here, see? According to the very first Article, a mage is defined as, and I quote, – 'man or woman or elf'," I looked up at the pair. "Notice they don't say female elf. Just an observation." I looked back down and continued reciting. "- 'man or woman or elf, whosoever may temper the Fade to their desires, whosoever can summon power from its flow, whosoever can wilfully change their dreams'." I looked up at Greagoir, who had gone silent and pale. Irving, however, looked rather amused. "I understand that it is more poetic in the original Orlesian, but the present tense is used in the original too, therefore the meaning is clear. Once you force the Rite of Tranquillity on a mage, they no longer meet the definition of 'mage' and are thus no longer required to remain in the Circle. They're free of your control."

Greagoir looked horrified. "You'll cripple us," he wheezed. "We need the revenue the Tranquil provide."

I sneered at him. "How very curious. You belong to an order devoted to a prophetess who freed slaves, and you are suddenly put out that you can't rely on slavery any more. Sorry, but I'm not sympathetic."

Irving cleared his throat. "Kathryn, this is most unwise. If you take the Tranquil, there will be great pressure for the templars to perform the Rite more liberally to refill their ranks."

"Then those Tranquil would also be outside of their control," I replied. "I'm sure some agent of the King will pop by to collect them on a regular basis."

Greagoir slumped back into his seat, the wood creaking alarmingly at the sudden weight. He glared at the document, seemingly trying to will it to change.

Irving sighed. "You said, 'in that case'. Was there another possibility, Kathryn?"

Greagoir snapped his head up. "What?"

"Kathryn only presented that declaration when you denied her original demand," he continued.

I nodded in agreement. "Alistair and Anora know that the Tranquil perform a vital, if immoral, service to the Circle and the Chantry. They would prefer for you to agree to allow mages to seek employment. Harrowed mages only, of course, and they would probably accept the First Enchanter's suggestion that the employment only be for limited periods. It would give more mages the chance to serve outside the tower."

"You will destroy the Circle," Greagoir said, horrified.

I sighed in frustration. "No, you idiot, I'm trying to _save _the Circle. I've seen what happens when a mage falls under the domination of a demon – it's not pretty. Talented children need instruction on how to control their gift, how to be responsible with their power. The Circle does that. Poorly, if personal experience and recent history are any guide, but it is capable. It has the potential to be so much better with some simple changes. But what we don't need is for mages to be imprisoned for their entire lives, not when they could contribute so much to life in Ferelden."

"This is blackmail!"

"It is not!" I retorted.

"It most certainly is," Greagoir retorted, slamming his fist onto his chair's armrest.

"No, it isn't. Technically, it's extortion." I waved that away. "But call it what you will. The fact remains that you have profited from slave labour when you had no legal, ethical or moral right to do so. The Crown could certainly use more revenue for their rebuilding efforts. Of course, they would prefer for you to simply give the mages their independence, it would be far more profitable all round. But they are pragmatic enough to know that true independence is an impossibility. Even their current desire would not be possible, were it not for the current level of public goodwill that mages hold."

"What do you propose," Irving asked, still in those even tones of his that managed to cut through raised voices.

I withdrew another parchment. "The King and Queen have also signed _this_ document. It surrenders all legal claims to the Tranquil, essentially passing their oversight to the Chantry - it legalises the status quo, as it were. That document," I said, pointing to the one still in Greagoir's hands, "gives me the power to walk out of here with every Tranquil in the tower. I have been told to burn one of these two documents right now, depending on your decision to counter-sign the other and begin negotiations in good faith."

Greagoir threw the parchment onto Irving's desk and put his head in his hands. "Damn you, Warden."

"What are you so afraid of?" I asked.

He slammed a fist onto Irving's desk. "The abominations that would spread untold misery across Ferelden!"

I shook my head. "You were obliged to let the mages out to fight the Blight, and not one of them turned into an abomination," I pointed out. "I know I can't convince you that it was your hard-line stance on restricting mage freedom that drove Uldred to do what he did. But even you must admit that not one mage who left the Tower to fight the Blight did anything but acquit themselves brilliantly."

The old templar made a fist and thumped it onto his knee a few times. "I… I can't. If something happened… How would I live with myself?"

"Greagoir," Irving all but whispered. "You are stuck on a course that may destroy the Circle and potentially unleash a generation of untrained mages on the land. Things change. People change, countries change. By denying this, you risk causing exactly what you seek to prevent."

I held my breath, waiting for the denial.

It didn't come. The Knight-Commander sank into himself, suddenly looking very small, as though his ever-present heavy armour was several sizes too big. "Very well, Irving. We _need _the Tranquil. I will allow Harrowed mages to accept positions with nobles, on the provision that they report to the nearest Mother or Revered Mother so that she knows who to keep an eye on."

I nodded, reaching out and picking up the document on Irving's desk and passed him the other. "Very well. Add your conditions and sign. An agent of Eamon's named William is staying at the Spoiled Princess; he will come to the island tomorrow to conduct the negotiations."

Greagoir grunted, snatched a quill and jotted a few lines at the bottom of the page under Alistair's seal. I picked up the royal claim on the Tranquil. Calling forth a burst of fire magic through my fingers, the dry parchment was soon a slow falling cloud of ashes. Greagoir looked darkly amused.

"You trust me that much? You burn your one bargaining chip?"

I shrugged. "You're honest to a fault, Greagoir, not even I could deny that." I gave him a winsome smile. "Besides, who's to say I don't have another copy?"

He grumbled, but rose to his feet. "I really hate you, Warden."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "Believe me, the feeling is mutual. But, I'd like you to consider this. If there are Circle mages all over the country, advising, healing and teaching - think of how much more effective it will be to locate children who have talent."

"We haven't had any trouble at that before," he snapped.

I rolled my eyes. "Yes, that reactionary methodology you use to only hunt down confused, terrified children who have already hurt someone works so well," I snarled. "I realise that new ideas are often unwelcome, but can you just try and make room in your head for the possibility that there may be a better way? Imagine if you could identify talented children before they hurt someone!"

"Warden," Greagoir growled warningly.

I ignored him, still piling on the sarcasm. "I know, I know, you like being heros, coming to save the day. And discovering talented children before they hurt someone would prevent you templars from basking in that glory. But I urge you to consider the benefits! Fewer people would actually be hurt!"

"Enough!" Greagoir roared. "Your plan still has a fatal flaw in that dozens of mages would be out in communities completely unsupervised!"

I snarled at him. "There are already hundreds of unsupervised mages all over the country, Greagoir - talented children! Mages with no training! We're talking about locating them before they accidentally hurt someone! But no, you'd prefer an unsuspecting child let loose a bolt of lightning at someone for pulling their hair! A local registered mage could break the news a bit more calmly to the family than a handful of armoured guards just turning up one day. Maker, a mage could help teach a child exercises to control their gift _before _they ever lose control. _This will save people!_"

Greagoir shook his head. "Perhaps. I don't like it though." He drew in a deep breath and sighed. "You realise that by even allowing this discussion I'm going to be replaced, and the next Commander will not be so accommodating."

I nodded. "Possibly. That is a problem to face when it happens. For now, I have here a list of the noble and merchant families and who want to hire mages and for what purpose," I said, pulling out yet another sheaf of parchment. "I'll leave it to you to decide which mages can be trusted with the assignments. Some merchant families have also expressed an interest in formally hiring a Circle mage, rather than relying on the usual semi-trained apostates."

Both the First Enchanter's and the Knight-Commander's eyes widened on seeing the lengthy list.

"I told you that the public perception of mages had shifted," I said with a smile. "Personally, I'd like to do all that is practicable to ensure the good will endures."

"So it would appear," Irving said. "Greagoir, do you require my input in selecting mages for those assignments?"

Greagoir shook his head. "No, I can manage. I am in charge of the Circle, after all." He glared at me. "This week, at least. Next week, who knows?"

I nodded at him. "Was there anything else you wished to discuss with me?"

He snorted. "I'm not sure I could survive another discussion with you, Warden," he snarled, rising to his feet. "I'm quite sure the templar order would not. If you have no further business, I need to go and write a report to the Grand Cleric. If I have anything to say about it, there will be a warrant out for your arrest within a week."

I shook my head with a chuckle. "Greagoir, I criss-crossed this country and spent weeks in Denerim over the course of a year while accused of being a regicide. Forgive me if I find your threats more amusing than threatening."

"You really shouldn't taunt him so," Irving rebuked me after Greagoir stormed out and slammed the door so hard it all but broke out of its frame. "He is under considerable stress, and your ill-considered actions tonight have not helped."

I grimaced. "He's a poo-head."

"Good grief, are you a child of six?"

"You're a poo-head too."

"Kathryn, I am serious."

"You're always serious; that's part of the reason you're a..."

Irving coughed. "I had thought that constant life-or-death situations would have matured you more."

I narrowed my eyes. "They have. If anything they've made me even more intolerant of blatant stupidity."

He smiled benevolently at me. "Yes, I recall that you never suffered fools lightly."

"I don't suffer fools at all."

"Quite. Was the violence downstairs truly necessary?"

"Necessary? Twenty templars shouting at a lone mage and one of them tries to Smite me. Given my experiences with them and the threats that have followed... no, I didn't go far enough."

"Am I to assume that you didn't taunt them?"

I shrugged. "Assume all you like. I won't confirm or deny it. I'm not interested in your approval, Irving. I told you that on the day I was conscripted after you refused to stand up for me. I swore when I left the Circle that I would never, ever allow myself to be helpless again. I will meet every attack on my person with sufficient force to defend myself and hopefully discourage future attacks. I have a duty to perform and I will not allow anyone to jeopardise it."

Irving shook his head sadly. "So, you intend to blast your way through life, killing all those who stand in your way?"

I sneered at him. "Way to go, putting words in my mouth. Here's a hypothetical scenario for you. What would have happened had the templars downstairs attacked a royal messenger who wasn't a mage? No answer? Let me tell you. They'd have been hanged, that's what. But I'm magically gifted, so those thugs have an expectation that they can do whatever they like to me without repercussion. And what's your response? Blame the mage. Goodness, but you have been indoctrinated well."

"But-"

I raised a hand. "As I said, I'm not interested in discussing this with you. You don't approve; I get it. I just couldn't be any more apathetic. Now, is there anything else?"

He sighed, but rose and made his way over to a lectern and gathered some sheets of vellum. "One of my missing missives to the King contained a request for an audience with you. There is something we need to discuss before Greagoir stumbles across it."

This sounded interesting. "Oh? What is it?"

Irving scratched his ragged beard. "Historically, the Harrowing ritual has fewer successes than failures. It is harsh, yet necessary."

"Why is that?" I asked, interrupting.

He blinked. "You are fully aware of its purpose."

"Indulge me."

He eyed me carefully. "It isolates those unable to resist demonic possession," he said, as though talking to a child.

I barked a short, humourless laugh. "And here I was under the impression that you had to be Harrowed to become an Enchanter, let alone a Senior Enchanter. How did Uldred slip through?"

The First Enchanter sighed. "Your flippant sarcasm is not helpful, Kathryn. Yes, Uldred was Harrowed and allowed himself to be possessed, but you know he was a fanatical Libertarian, obsessed with breaking away from the Circle. May I continue, or do you wish to waste some more time raving about circumstances I am unable to change?"

This was why I hated arguing with Irving. He would ignore sarcasm and accept his faults, only interested in looking for solutions to the current problem. "You're the one who brought up a point of contention as if it were incontrovertible fact. The Harrowing is _not _necessary."

"Perhaps. Perhaps not," he sighed, giving nothing away. "That is not the issue in question, however. In the time between your recruitment and Uldred's return from Ostagar, I presided over two Harrowings. Both mages survived."

"Congratulations."

"In the weeks and months following your defeat of the Pride Demon possessing poor Uldred we postponed Harrowings until we were capable of enacting it safely." He leaned back in his chair and placed the tips of his fingers together. "Once we resumed the ritual, the success rate became unprecedented. Only one of the thirteen Harrowings since has ended in failure."

"Congratulations," I repeated. "Maybe Uldred's uprising did the job of weeding out those who would have fallen victim. Those predisposed to it probably joined Uldred."

"I had considered exactly that, after eight mages in a row had survived. I believe that I even managed to convince Greagoir to accept that reasoning. It seemed probable that the unfortunate recent events had perhaps instilled a sense of caution amongst our apprentices. However, against all expectations, no apprentice has made a fearful request to be made Tranquil rather than undergo the Harrowing. No apprentice has shown any trepidation as they approached the chamber." He leaned forward. "It has become obvious that they no longer fear the Harrowing."

"And?"

"Kathryn, did you tell anyone about the ritual?"

Why lie? It's not as though he could expel me from the Circle now, is it? "Yes."

He sighed and shook his head. "I did make it clear, did I not, that it was to be kept secret?"

I nodded. "Absolutely. You were most categorical about it."

"Then may I ask why you disobeyed me?"

"I didn't."

"And yet you just admitted that you did," he said firmly.

I grinned at him. "No, I didn't. There was ten minutes or so between me waking and you telling me to keep the Harrowing a secret." I raised my eyebrows. "Seriously, sending my best friend who was absolutely petrified of the Harrowing to tell me you wanted to see me was silly if you wanted to keep it secret."

Irving sighed. "I see. So now the rumour mill amongst the apprentices ensures that the ritual is no longer a secret."

I barked an incredulous laugh. "The rumour mill about the Harrowing was going long before my turn. Speculation was rife, but there was enough there to piece together what it would entail."

"Speculation, yes, but not certainty. We can no longer rely on it to properly test prospective mages."

"I doubt the poor bugger who failed it agrees. It still sounds dangerous to me. All it means is that our numbers are not being overly culled by the templars."

He sighed. "Conspiracy theories, Kathryn?"

I waved a hand. "I doubt we could convince each other of our own viewpoint, so let's not bother. Although it does lead into a possibility I should bring up. Ever since I became a Grey Warden, I don't dream in the Fade."

Irving's anger had still not abated. "What does that have to do with your divulging of the Circle's secrets?"

I rolled my eyes. "Nothing. It has to do with the very reason you claim the Harrowing exists. "

That brought him up short. He ran a finger over his lips. "Oh? Go on."

"It took a while for Duncan and me to make our way south to Ostagar. I had nightmares nearly every night of Mouse taunting and tempting me."

"Mouse?"

I sighed. "That's the name I gave the Pride Demon in my Harrowing."

"Ah, its tactics have changed since my day, it seems."

I shrugged. "Well, his nightly torments stopped the moment I became a Warden. I dream of darkspawn now. With the scarce exceptions of when I actually enter the Fade, I haven't been tempted by a demon since. I mention it only because giving someone the opportunity to become a Warden may be a more humane alternative to becoming Tranquil, if they fear the Harrowing."

Irving leaned back in his chair. "Interesting. Most interesting." He paused, thinking deeply. "I must say, I cannot recall reading of any Grey Warden mage becoming an abomination. It may well be an acceptable alternative. I shall examine what records we have and present the proposal to Greagoir once things have calmed down."

I nodded, not expecting in the least that Greagoir would go for it. But, it was a single step on the way to a more humane Circle. "I appreciate it." Thinking of Eamon's fear for his son, I continued, "As a special case, if Connor Guerrin is ever considered for the rite, please let me know. I wouldn't put it past his father's political enemies to petition or pressure the Chantry to make him Tranquil. I'll conscript him before I let that happen."

Irving nodded slowly. "I would like to say you are being paranoid, but I understand politics." He chuckled softly. "One does not become First Enchanter without at least a passing familiarity with its dark undercurrents. Should the worst happen, I shall do all that is possible to assist young Connor."

I frowned in thought. "What if I were to recruit him now?" I wondered aloud.

Irving appeared shocked. "He's a child!"

I waved a hand in irritation. "I'm not going to put him through the Joining tonight! I mean, if I were to recruit him now, on the understanding that he would join on his majority, would that protect him from any who push to make him Tranquil?"

Irving blinked. "I suppose so. But Warden recruits are always taken with their recruiter."

I shrugged. "I'm not exactly one for tradition. Here, may I borrow a quill and a sheet of vellum? Thank you." I scratched out a note, formally naming Connor as a Grey Warden recruit. "There. Keep that safe. If he remains safe as he grows up and takes his Harrowing, burn it. He doesn't need to know of it. If however, there is a push to make him Tranquil, you can use it to keep him safe if I'm not contactable. I daresay at that point he'd need to be shipped off to Soldier's Peak or wherever the Warden's base of operations lies, but he wouldn't be made Tranquil."

"So, you are leaving your recruits here to complete their education?"

I gave a sarcastic snort. "Do you want me to pay for his tuition?"

Irving gave a small smile but shook his head. "No, I'm just sorry such matters are necessary."

"Yeah, me too. I'd do it for all the apprentices in the Circle to keep anyone from becoming Tranquil, but I suspect that doing so would have some serious unforeseen consequences."

"It is good to see you thinking about consequences, Kathryn. You shall face several in the coming weeks. Speaking of the Tranquil; the legal position you presented to Greagoir was superficial at best." He eyed me carefully. "Your research was sloppy and inadequate."

I raised my eyebrows. "Oh? Why do you say that?"

He smiled at me. "It appears that you have not read the many addenda to the Articles added after the various Convocations. There was one addendum in particular that affected your position."

I smiled back. "Despite your allegation, I was most diligent in my research. Are you referring to the Convocation of 2:63?"

"Ah, yes indeed."

I smirked. "Wasn't that the Convocation that was convened just after the Emperor of Orlais came to a similar conclusion regarding the legal status of the Tranquil? Didn't he decide that it would be far better for the profits from their labour to be added to his Treasury rather than the Chantry's coffers? And didn't the Convocation conclude with an agreement that, in exchange for all profits for ninety-nine years, the secular governments would cede any and all future claim on the Tranquil?"

Irving chuckled softly. "Yes, well summarised. Tell me, had Greagoir known about that particular Convocation, what would you have done?"

"I had a contingency. I still have it, in fact," I lied, patting the diplomatic pouch. "I did test the waters first, you recall, by questioning him about the number of mages I could recruit. He thought it was a law, which is a common misunderstanding. His ignorance in that matter meant that there was a high probability he had just assumed the Tranquil were considered the same a mages."

"I see. May I say just how interesting it was to watch you in action? I don't believe I've ever seen someone negotiate for something to which they have no right, by offering what their opposite number already possesses."

"Thank you. I think."

"And what happens when some learned scholar at the Chantry points out your duplicity?"

I shrugged. "Eamon's agent will be over here tomorrow morning to get things sorted. Hopefully Circle mages will be out in the world within the week, providing a positive service. The Crown would be at an advantage in further negotiations at that point. Besides," I put on an air of confused innocence. "To what duplicity are you referring?"

Irving frowned. "Your claim on the Tranquil."

I looked pointedly at the ashes on the desk. "What claim?"

"Ah. I see. Very well played."

"I laid the groundwork, but it was mostly Anora. Tell me, Greagoir hinted a few times about manpower problems. Why are there so few fully trained templars here? The reason I was so aggressive downstairs was because I was expecting to get hit by a dozen Smites at any second."

Irving sighed. "I am not consulted about such things. But recent events have caused some... logistical difficulties in obtaining certain supplies. I believe the more experienced templars have been reassigned for the duration."

My jaw dropped. "You've run out of lyrium and the templars with larger addictions have been taken away?"

Irving's jaw dropped, mirroring mine. "You know? How did you know that?"

"Lucky guess. How bad is it?"

He glared at me, not answering my question. "That is one of the Chantry's most guarded secrets, Kathryn. How did you know?"

I shrugged, doubting that Alistair would care if I told Irving. After all, what could the Chantry do? "Alistair. I spent the better part of a year travelling around with him; you know he was a templar initiate before his conscription. He was quite happy that Duncan saved him from inevitable lyrium-addiction," I replied.

That little tidbit of information changed things. During the fight downstairs, I had expected several templars to Smite me from afar. Despite Alistair's assistance, I doubted I would have resisted such concurrent attacks. I reviewed the events in my mind, incorporating the new information. Apparently, the reason I wasn't aching in a Smite-induced torpor was that the templars downstairs were initiates. It also neatly explained why I managed to emerge from the fight unscathed, why the templars acted like they'd never fought together before and why none of them put a stop to my magic.

Irving gave a hum of agreement, disapproval radiating from him like heat from a fire. "Yes, there is a lyrium shortage at present."

I frowned. "Really? Is that just here at the Circle?"

"No, it is a general shortage due to the dwarves marching en masse to assist with the Blight."

I frowned. That didn't make sense. The warrior caste marched, of course. And they were joined by some of the eager casteless and the more experienced nobles and deshyrs, but the mining caste on the whole stayed home to work. "Did Greagoir tell you that?"

Irving sighed. "Yes, but it is true. It is my responsibility to catalogue the lyrium we receive from the Chantry. Our recent deliveries have been less than a fifth our usual ration. Surely you know of the shortage? It must be more difficult than usual to obtain lyrium outside the Circle."

I shook my head. "I wouldn't really know. I make my own lyrium potions; they're far more potent than the ones you can pick up from back-street vendors, and cheaper than buying them from Wonders." I thought back to the last few months in Denerim. "I don't recall there being talk of a supply problem. I still have a large amount of dust from the last time I was in Orzammar, though. Half a pound or so at least. Do you need some? Or some more potions?"

His gaze turned grim. "I suspect that your actions this evening have eased the pressures on our supplies for the near future."

"Yeah, well, I'm still not sorry about that. Not sorry at all. I'm never going to sit back and allow myself to be attacked without responding in kind."

He closed his eyes wearily, accentuating the already prominent bags under his eyes. "Kathryn, I know you did not view the templars favourably during your time here, but surely you feel some disquiet over the fact that you just killed eight of their number?"

"No," I said emphatically. "And I'll tell you why. While I was here, I _thought _I hated them with a passion. They threatened us, spied on us and abused us. I had three elven friends during my apprenticeship who were executed after templars accused them of being maleficars. Oddly, each of the three had just blossomed into women and had also just spurned their accuser's unwanted advances, but those little facts weren't considered pertinent during the very, very brief investigations. The only reason I was spared from that fate was Cullen's infatuation with me; it marked me as unavailable to the others."

Irving looked uncomfortable. "Those unjust deaths pained me too, Kathryn."

I shook my head. "Not enough for you to actually stand up to the bastards though. And anyway, after seeing how the templars acted during Uldred's uprising, running away in terror and leaving little children behind to fend for themselves, well, I had an epiphany. I realised that when I was an apprentice, templars were only a pet peeve." I glared at him. "Now, templars are a psychotic hatred of mine."

"All templars?"

Oh, you bastard. "No, not all. But the good ones I've met are either dead or insane. How is Cullen, by the way?"

"He is greatly recovered. However, the tower was proving to hold too many bad memories for him, slowing his healing, so he has been transferred."

I sighed, wondering if some poor backwater was being shipped a damaged templar. "Where?"

"To the Free Marches. I understand he is well thought of at the Kirkwall Circle. Greagoir tells me that he is being considered for promotion to Knight-Captain. At such a young age, too."

I took a deep breath, and let it out, wondering why I felt so much more relieved that I expected. Not even the templars would promote an insane man to a position of authority. "That... that is good to know."

He actually smiled. "And that," he said softly, though audible to my elvish ears, "is also good to know."

"Well," I said, standing. "I'm off unless there is anything else you need to discuss."

"Have you been assigned quarters for the evening?"

I shrugged. "No idea. If Greagoir tries to stick me down in the dungeons, I'll fight him."

"I believe you. I shall request that you to be quartered in the room where Duncan stayed during his last visit."

Inwardly, I winced, but nodded. "Thank you, but I really need to get going."

Irving stroked his beard. "Oh? You have other urgent business that requires you to depart at night?"

I nodded. "Yes I have other business here in the tower but no, it doesn't involve you. I have letters to deliver and people to see."

He sighed deeply. "I don't suppose pointing out that all Circle correspondence needs to be approved by Greagoir will convince you to run it by him?"

I laughed. "Not on your life. But I'd best get out of here now, before he comes charging back in, yelling and screaming," I said, hauling my pack and the diplomatic pouch over my shoulder.

"Oh?" Irving said, clearly confused. "He has quite the task ahead of him. Why would he come back?"

I opened the door and stepped through. Over my shoulder, I replied, "Oh, he'll be back here at some point soon, depending on where he went to work through the list. And he'll be pretty angry, I imagine."

"Yes, but why?"

I gave a grin of total satisfaction. "Because when the esteemed Knight-Commander refused to allow my mabari into your study with us, I told Thunder to go and crap on on his pillow."

* * *

><p>I was followed as I left Irving's study, as expected. My shadows tried to do 'surreptitious', but barely managed to avoid 'bleeding obvious'. Greagoir obviously wanted me under surveillance, and for now I had no objection. I went straight down the stairs and to the apprentice dorms. A quick question of the duty guard gave me the specific bed I needed. I quietly made my way along the bunks, counting them under my breath. Once I reached my destination, I bent down and reached for the slumbering boy. "Connor?" I shook the small figure gently.<p>

Eamon's son awoke, looking bewildered. "Huh?" he said groggily.

"Come with me please," I whispered.

A nasty laugh came from the next bunk. "It's about time they took you away, Demon-boy."

Another apprentice took up the taunting. "Demon-boy's gonna be made Tranquil!"

I felt Connor stiffen. As more and more children awoke and started jeering, I raised a hand and called forth a brilliant white flame. "Enough!"

My tone was enough to cow the youngsters, but whispers further away still reached my ears.

"Come on," I said to him, as kindly as I could. "Nothing is wrong, and you are not in trouble."

I slipped a hand across the boy's trembling shoulders and led him from the dorm. Once we were out in the corridor, he blinked in the light of the torches, looking up at me. "I know you," he said, his voice soft, defeated.

I nodded. "Yes."

"You're the elf who saved me. In the Fade."

"That's right."

"Are you here to save me again?" he asked, longing in his voice.

I winced. "Only in a manner of speaking. I have a letter for you from your father," I said as I led him through the double doors to the library. The place hadn't changed at all.

The templar on duty snorted himself awake at my words. "Letters from outside the tower are forbidden," he snapped in a warbling, adolescent voice. He strode forward with a hand outstretched.

I levelled my gaze at him. "As I told Greagoir not a quarter of an hour ago, interfering with Royal mail is a capital crime. I would prefer that Connor here get to read his letter without me resorting to violence, but if having you and every other templar in the tower hanged is what it takes, that's a price I'm willing to pay," I said evenly.

The young templar stopped his advance and jerked back, as though stepping back from a cliff. "You- you can't threaten me!"

"What threat?" I snapped. "I merely made an observation."

"The Knight-Commander shall hear of this!" he all but wailed at me.

I waved a hand at him condescendingly. "Off you go then. Run along to Greagoir. I'm sure he'd let you cry on his shoulder. You can tell him all about the mean, nasty elf who wouldn't let you get your own way. I'm sure he'll be very impressed."

Connor's eyes were wide with fright as he looked up at me. "Um, we're not allowed to tell the templars what to do!"

"That is going to change," I said darkly. "Well?" I asked the dumbfounded templar. "Sod off already!" He backed away and reluctantly resumed his guard position. Even with all the labour issues, Greagoir still had someone guard a sodding library. Idiocy permeates everything, wherever I go.

"What do you mean?" Connor asked, hope seeding in his voice.

"The templars are not going to have so much control over the Circle soon. Your father is helping Alistair, Anora and me to fix it. He probably tells you about it in his letter."

He sagged. "Father never writes to me. No matter how many times I write to him, he never writes back."

I pursed my lips together. Greagoir was holding so tightly to failed policies that he was all but ensuring another Uldred-esque cock-up. "Oddly enough, he has the same complaint. It seems that all his letters to you have gone unanswered, and he was worried."

I led him to the main table and sat down. "Here, read it now."

Connor's fingers trembled slightly as he ran his fingertips over the wax imprint of his father's signet. After a moment, he carefully broke the seal. As he read the letter, I looked the lad over. His months in the Tower had not been kind. Whereas before he was a healthy, raw-boned youth with freckled, sun-touched skin, now he was pale, almost sickly. He had grown an inch or two, but had lost weight. The Circle was not agreeing with him at all.

His breathing became sniffles as he worked through the letter. He began wiping the back of his hand across his increasingly red eyes. "He-he says that he loves me. That he's worried about me."

I smiled. "I could have told you that."

Connor looked up at me. "He says that if I haven't got his letters then they've probably been taken by the templars."

I nodded. "More than likely."

"Why do they do that?"

I snorted. "Because they're so afraid of us that they want to believe that treating us like real people is not in our best interests."

He gave me a reasonable impersonation of a goldfish. "But- but they can stop magic! They are allowed to kill us!"

I chuckled softly. "Connor, listen to me. Most of what you hear about templars is rubbish. Yes, they can drain you of your magical strength, and yes they can negate magical effects. They can even call forth what they call a Holy Smite, which almost always leaves a mage helpless, stunned and easy prey." I looked directly into his fear-filled eyes. "What they don't want you to know is that not all of them can do that."

He blinked in shock. "What?"

"I have been reliably informed that besides Greagoir, there is only one other templar currently in the tower with the ability to generate a Holy Smite. It takes a great deal of discipline to pull one off, and only very experienced warriors have that level of mental and physical control. I believe there were one or two others earlier today, but they're dead now."

He gasped, covering his mouth with his hands. "Dead? What happened?"

I gave him a grim smile. "They tried to stop me entering the tower. As I'm on a royal mission, I didn't allow them to stop me. Things got a little out of hand."

"You killed them?"

I nodded. "I did. I didn't like it, but duty comes first. That's why your father suggested the King send me. I won't let anything stop me."

"But how? If they can stop your magic, how did you..." he couldn't finish.

I rapped a knuckle on my breastplate. "Last year, I rediscovered a kind of magic that the elves used centuries ago. It enables mages to channel their magic into their muscles, making them strong enough to wear armour and use weapons. I suspect that once I start teaching other mages how to use it, the Chantry will try to ban it."

His eyes widened, and I recognised a hint of the boy I'd met almost a year ago. "Mages who fight with swords? Wow! Father had the arms-master at home teaching me how to use a sword before... before..." he trailed off.

I examined his face, looking for something in his eyes. "Are you being treated well here? Are the templars singling you out for punishment?"

He ducked his head in shame. No, not the templars, I thought. "No," he said.

I sighed. "Are the other apprentices bullying you that much?"

Still with his head down, he shrugged noncommittally.

Growling under my breath, I reached out and gently grabbed his shoulder. "Connor, listen to me. What happened in Redcliffe? Not your fault."

"But I summoned the demon! I can't even remember it, but everyone says it was my fault!"

I placed two fingers under his chin and gently but firmly raised his head so that he was looking at me. "Listen to me very carefully. This guilt will make you more vulnerable. It was not your fault. Your mother should not have tried to hide your gifts. Jowan should have taught you better. Loghain shouldn't have had your father poisoned in the first place. Anyone who blames a child for being afraid of losing a parent and accepting help is an idiot and can safely be ignored."

Tears filled his eyes. "But so many people died," he whispered.

I nodded. "Yes, they did. Your mother didn't care. I was quite put out with her because of that, and told her so in very specific terms. Let's just say that I'll never be on her First Day list. You, however, do care. That makes you a good person, even if you feel you did a bad thing."

"Are- are they going to make me T-t-tranquil?"

I sighed, wondering if my request to Irving was prophetic at all. "I doubt it. After all the effort the mages went to in order to save you, well, there'd have to be a damned good reason. I won't let them do it anyway, I'll make you a Warden first. I promise, you'll get your Harrowing when you're ready. Have you heard what you need to do from the other apprentices?"

He nodded slowly. "I'm supposed to save someone trapped in the Fade, to bring them out."

I rolled my eyes and groaned. "Who told you that?"

"Yvonne and Darren."

"Let me guess. Darren was one of the apprentices who called you Demon-boy, wasn't he?"

Again, his head dropped in shame. "Yes."

Again, I gently dragged his head up. "Don't listen to bullies. The Harrowing is dangerous, but the key to succeeding is to leave everything and everyone you meet there in the Fade. Understand? Don't trust anything, and make fully sure you come out alone. Do that, and you'll be fine."

"Hey!" the templar shouted.

I silenced him with a glare and turned back to Connor.

"Are you sure?" the boy asked, sounding more confident already.

"Absolutely. It's a test to make sure you can resist a demon's advances, both overt and subtle. You know what sort of tactics demons use, so you're already in a better position than those idiotic bullies. Now, write a reply to your father. I've got to go and meet with a couple of other people. I'll come back in an hour or so and pick it up, okay?"

The templar marched up to me as I rose. "You can't tell them about the Harrowing!" he shouted, jabbing a gauntleted finger into my chest.

I shoved him backwards. One thing about wearing a massive metal breastplate and cloth leggings is that you tend to be top heavy - and easy to push around, even by a tiny elf maid. "I'll break your fingers if you ever jab me again," I told him. "And Connor was being given advice that would have seen him possessed."

I could hear the snarl behind the helmet. "Then he gets possessed. We will take care of him."

I glared at him. "Did you join the templars so you could indulge an existing urge to slaughter helpless children, or do they instil those as a matter of course during your training?"

The templar raised a gauntleted fist. I gathered my magic.

"ENOUGH!" a voice roared from the stairwell entrance. Greagoir stormed over to us, eyes flashing and face flushed. "What is this? Initiate! Report!"

"Knight-Commander, ser! This elf just told that apprentice there about the Harrowing Ritual!"

Greagoir glared at me for a long moment. "Well?" he demanded.

"Well what?"

"Are you going to defend yourself against the accusation?"

I spread my hands and set my expression to one of intense confusion. "What would be the point? You've never taken the word of a mage over the word of a templar in your life."

Greagoir ground his teeth together, his left eye twitching alarmingly. "I'm listening now. Did you tell this apprentice about the Harrowing?"

"No."

The templar guard gasped. "What? You did so!"

I sighed. "I did not say anything about the ritual itself. I gave him some good advice to counter the bad advice he has been given."

Greagoir looked down at Connor, who shrank back and stepped behind me. "Boy, what did the Warden tell you?"

"J-just t-to c-come out of the F-f-fade alone, sir. Not to t-trust anything," Connor stammered.

Greagoir sighed. "Fine. I don't know why I'm surprised." In a sing-song voice, he continued, "Come on in, Warden. Kill some templars, Warden. Destroy our way of life, Warden. Threaten to financially ruin us, Warden. Undermine us as we endeavour to ensure mages are not a danger, Warden." He shook his head. "I find myself morbidly curious to see what you intend to do next."

I tilted my head to one side. "Are you done? This cloak of self-pity doesn't become you."

"Oh that's rich, coming from you."

I raised an eyebrow. "Coming from someone who has been abused by templars all my life, you mean?"

He spat out a curse. "I didn't come down here to mediate a dispute between you and a guard. I came down here because y_our dog did a shit on the chair in my study_!" he finished in a scream.

I blinked. "He did what?"

"You heard me!"

"Your chair? Really?

"Yes, really!" he said, sarcasm dripping from his tongue.

"Don't get your smalls in a twist. Go and get an apprentice to freeze it solid and then just pick it up. Problem solved."

His hands clenched and unclenched. "It is not 'problem solved', Warden! Why did your dog defecate on my furniture?"

I shrugged. "How should I know? I certainly didn't tell him to soil your chair," I replied with very specific honesty. "You didn't exactly put yourself in his favour, what with attacking me downstairs and refusing to allow him to protect me in Irving's study. Maybe he felt the need to express his displeasure in a less indirect form?"

Thunder was really building up the good works. At this rate, I was going to have to stuff him full of his favourite foods until his belly burst.

o_ooo000ooo_o

AN: Thanks to my reviewers - Ledilettant, Nightbrainzz, Rhagar, qweenseeker, Arsinoe de Blassenville, MB18932, Bored and Sleepy with Waffles and Girl-chama - they really inspire me to write more.

One thing that I wanted to put into the conversation but wouldn't fit is Greagoir's seeming indifference to whether or not a mage is guilty. In Mage Origin, it is claimed that he has evidence that Jowan has been practicing blood magic. But, the first words out of his mouth after Jowan knocks him on is arse are "So, it's true." Thus, my extrapolation that he doesn't take a mage's word over a templar's, and has little regard for 'evidence'.


	8. The traditional homecoming brawl, part 2

disclaimer type=standard

Anything you recognise is Bioware's. I daresay anything else belongs to them too.

/disclaimer

o_ooo000ooo_o

Cassandra turned her head away from the Warden, her jaw clenched tight.

Kathryn tilted her head to one side, evaluating the Seeker. "Are you... laughing?"

"No!" the Seeker spat, fighting the involuntary curling her lips were insisting upon. She took a breath and said, "Not at all!"

The Warden smirked. "Oh, I think you are. Don't worry, your secret is safe with me."

The Seeker shoved a gauntleted fist hard against her lips, trying to appear deep in thought. It didn't work. Behind the hand, her traitorous mouth turned into a smile. The image of the pompous imbecile Greagoir sitting down on some…

"Aha! See? I told you that you were laughing."

"I am n-" Cassandra broke off, coughing. "I do not…" She shut her eyes tightly together, but her shoulders began shaking. "His chair?" she squeaked, to her abject horror.

A wide, genuine smile spread over the tiny elf's face. It was the first expression she had presented that wasn't polluted by her dour cynicism. It was almost as if a different person looked through the bright green eyes; a beautiful young elf girl with no care in the world and a smile like a sunrise. "Yes! It was all I could do not to laugh in Greagoir's face."

Cassandra covered her face with her hands and took a deep breath, her discipline managing to regain control of her mirth. Once she was sure she was fully in control, she dropped her hands and looked at the Warden. "Do all mabari understand instructions so well? I can quite easily imagine a dog expressing its displeasure in such a disgusting way."

"Not all. Generally, the better the pedigree, the better the brains. Aedan Cousland's mabari can recognise hand signals as well as words. You could almost consider Shadow bilingual. But I gather from your expression that you are thinking of some past acquaintances who could have benefited from having their chairs befouled."

"What? No!" she claimed, unconvincingly.

Kathryn raised an eyebrow questioningly.

"Well, maybe one or two," Cassandra relented, thinking back to her own induction into the Seekers. Her lips twitched again.

"Ha! I knew it! You are human after all."

Cassandra growled, but the threat just wasn't there anymore. "Enough! Just… enough. Laughing while the world burns around us strikes me as being inappropriate."

Kathryn raised an eyebrow. "Not laughing when a pretentious git like Greagoir sits squarely in dog shit is inappropriate, in my opinion. Whatever plan the Maker has for us must include laughing at idiocy. He put so much of it in people, after all."

That struck Cassandra as incongruous. "You don't strike me as someone who honours the Maker."

Kathryn looked surprised at that. "Really? I am a most devoted servant of Andraste and the Maker. How could I not be?"

The Seeker paused. Was this a test? "I could not fault you were you not. Not after how you were treated by, well..."

The elf tilted her head to one side. "Sorry? What does the Chantry have to do with the my faith in the Maker?"

And there it was. Cassandra had heard that particular argument many times before. "I take it you do not believe that the Chantry does the Maker's work?"

"No one able to think critically would believe so. The Chantry exists to further the interests of the Chantry. Those interests occasionally coincide with those stated by Andraste, but when there is a conflict between them, the Chantry's needs always trumps those of the Maker."

"Bullshit!" Cassandra exploded, her recent good humour vanishing in an instant. "This is not about how you were treated, Kathryn Surana! I told you before that it was a group of rogue templars who kidnapped you and-"

Cassandra blinked, her head buzzing and full of fluff. Pain radiated through her body, from the back of her head down her back, but it was muted, distant. She stared blankly at blurry darkness, wondering where she was. What had happened? Was she lying down?

A blob filled her vision, and details started emerging. Red hair. Pale skin. Pointed ears. Green eyes. An elvish face, looking down at her.

"Wha-" she mumbled, sitting up and shaking the cobwebs from her thoughts.

In a voice dripping with menace, the tiny elf growled out, "Would you care to rephrase your objection, before I revoke your breathing privileges?"

Reality rushed back. With trembling limbs, the Seeker scrabbled back, putting a few precious feet between her and the mage. She rose quivering to her feet and stumbled backwards, glancing at the door to the cell. It suddenly appeared to be leagues away, and offered no escape from this mage. She swallowed, trying to shift an unaccustomed tightness in her throat, more terrified than she had ever been in her life. "I- I simply meant that the Chantry exists to enact the Maker's will. It certainly did not condone the attack on you."

"That is debatable," Kathryn said flatly, with no room for argument. "But why mention those templars at all? We were not discussing the Chantry's incompetence in monitoring the activities of its adherents. Just that it puts its own needs first, ahead of the Maker's."

"But it does not," Cassandra insisted, with much less heat than before.

"The existence of the dissonant verses of the Chant proves otherwise," Kathryn replied. "They show that your Chantry is more interested in changing the Maker's word to suit their position than changing their position to suit the Maker's word."

Cassandra inwardly winced at the mention of the excised verses of the Chant. Voicing the Chantry's justifications for them would do her mission no good here. She grasped at the one positive aspect that had appeared in the dialogue. "You are a true Andrastean then? You believe in the Maker?"

"I am. I do."

The Seeker's heart suddenly rose, despite her fear. That stated belief in the Maker and his bride was something she could work with, something she could build upon. It may still be possible to gain this mage's assistance. "Truly?"

Kathryn sat back on the prison bunk, her emerald eyes still narrowed dangerously. "Truly. Why? Did you think I would not be? I witnessed someone on his death bed, unresponsive to everything - from the most devout prayers from every priest in Redcliffe to the most powerful healing magic in Ferelden. I sprinkled a pinch of the Ashes of Andraste over him, and poof! He wakes up a second later, fully healed and raring to inject his unique brand of idiocy on the world. An honest-to-Maker miracle. How could I not believe?"

Through the odd combination of fear and anger, Cassandra felt a flash of... jealousy? Yes, she was envious. She had devoted her entire life to the Maker and the Chantry, and in the course of her duties had interrogated those who claimed to have witnessed a miracle. Of course, she had inevitably found that the claimants were lying or mistaken, but she had never personally witnessed the Maker's influence. "How indeed," she said weakly. "I envy you."

"Ha!" Kathryn barked. "I can't say I've ever heard those words before."

The Seeker sighed. "No, I suppose not." She swallowed, needing to distract the mage away from this line of thought. "I would still like to know what really happened the next morning at the Circle. Why did so many more templars end up dead?"

"Idiocy."

Cassandra nodded, suspecting as much. "Whose?"

A slow grin formed on the Warden's lips. "That's the question, isn't it?"

o_ooo000ooo_o

It took some time, but eventually Greagoir vented enough of his rage at me to return to his task. He did however, insist that I be immediately escorted to my assigned guest quarters and ensconced within. I only complied once I was given assurances that I would be given Duncan's room, that I was to be woken well before sunrise and that I was permitted to keep my arms and armour. Greagoir's mood soured at my list of demands, but he conceded remarkably quickly.

I stayed in Duncan's room until I could no longer hear Greagoir's footsteps on the stone floor before shifting form into a mouse and squeezing out under the door. Once in the corridor, I scurried past my lone templar guard, hugging the wall. When I was finally away from prying eyes, I resumed my usual form and went about my business without any irritating templar shadows. I made my way through the tower, nodding at various Enchanters, eliciting expressions ranging from terror to amusement. It did not take me long to locate my next port of call.

"Hello Godwin."

The delightfully corrupt mage stiffened, but relaxed once he looked up and recognised me. "Kathryn! I heard that you were back. Was all the excitement downstairs your fault? It is good to see you again!"

I nodded. "Yes, and likewise. How's business?"

He coughed, almost choking, at my blatant mention of his sideline. He cleared his throat, looking around nervously. "Shush! What if-"

"There are no templars around, Godwin. They don't have the manpower to patrol the floors at present. How much lyrium do you have?"

"Shush!" he hissed, not willing to risk discovery, gesturing me to keep my voice down. He eyed me warily. "Er, why?"

"Because with the current shortage, there is an opportunity for enormous profit. And you would render your teeth, eyeballs and gonads down into potion ingredients if you could make some coin by it."

"I've not got any left!" he all but wailed. "If you had a wet cloth you might be able to collect a couple of dust grains by cleaning my shelves. The Knight-Commander's orders to isolate the tower means that my supplier can't get through."

I smiled. "Ah, but I'm not looking to buy, Godwin."

He blinked. "You... you've got some to sell?" he asked, suddenly sounding a lot more eager.

I nodded, unbuckling and removing my bandoleer of potions. "Twenty-four highly potent lyrium potions, hand made by yours truly. If you diluted these beauties I imagine you could get almost two hundred small lyrium doses." I pulled out one of the potions and handed it to him.

He fingered the bottle, holding it up to the steady light of a spell-wisp. Nodding in appreciation of the colour, he uncorked it and took a delicate sniff, blinking at the concentrated bouquet. "Impressive. How much?" he asked quickly.

I named a figure.

"That's most reasonable, Kathryn," he said, his eye's glittering with repressed greed. Maker, he'd lose his smallclothes if he tried playing cards with anyone outside the tower.

"Each."

My response hung in the air for a second before he reacted. His face blanched, and his eyes bulged in their sockets. "Each? That's highway robbery!"

I raised a finger, adopting a lecturing tone. "No, highway robbery occurs when you are travelling from one place to another and a group of armed bandits try to kill and rob you. Personally, I never understood why anyone allows them to do so; it seems counter productive. I always ended up killing them and taking all their stuff." I shook my head and waved my hands. "But that's by-the-by. No, what you and I are engaging in is called _commerce_. I own a large quantity of a valuable substance. You - literally - have a captive market for said valuable substance. Do you honestly expect me to believe that you wouldn't be able to turn a profit when you hold the only supply for a large demand?"

He grumbled for a moment. "Fine. But at that rate I can only afford," he paused, mentally calculating. "Seventeen. Almost eighteen. I'll take the lot so long as you are prepared to accept some rings and an amulet in trade. Or a promissory note," he finished brightly. It took no effort what so ever to deduce his preferred choice.

I smiled, but shook my head. I wanted coin, in my hand now, and not trinkets. "For that figure, I'll give you seventeen potions and some lyrium dust at only ten times what I paid for it."

He gave me what could only be described as _a look_. With dripping sarcasm, he said, "Only ten, huh? Goodness, you're all heart. Once again you leave me with nothing."

I snorted. "Nothing except a monopoly on a large amount of lyrium in a sealed tower full of lyrium consumers and addicts."

He sighed, and dug around his pockets for coins. He scrabbled around in his chest for coins. He opened his hidden cache for coins. He scrounged through his dorm-mates' belongings for coins. He even checked under his mattress for coins. Eventually, the agreed amount was accumulated. "There," he said, taking his potions and a large pouch of dust. "I'd say it was a pleasure doing business with you, but you are worse than the dwarves I deal with. Why do you need so much money, anyway? Aren't you the Commander of the Grey Wardens in Ferelden?"

"Yes, but I haven't actually been paid yet. I spent a year after Ostagar in abject poverty, working at any job I could get to keep my companions fed and equipped. Until the legendary tithes to the Grey Wardens start materialising, I'll keep my carefully honed mercenary instincts alive."

He goggled at me. "You haven't been paid?" He sounded aghast. "Not even... paid? That's... that's... that's wrong! That's immoral!"

I chuckled softly. "Thank you for that sterling defence of the morality of wages."

Godwin glanced around, and leaned closer. I could smell a faint trace of lyrium on his breath. Apparently his 'available supply' was kept quite separate from his 'personal-use' stash. One of the perks of the job, I suppose. "Are you going to Orzammar soon?"

I nodded. "Next stop, in fact."

"Dust town?"

I shrugged. "If necessary."

He swallowed, holding up one of his new potions. "This is good in the short term, but a lot of the templars and mages are showing some pretty bad cases of lyrium-itch, so it won't last long. Maybe a month. I really need some more, and I don't think Greagoir will open the doors any time soon. Could you visit Rogek and bring back another shipment?"

I winced. I hadn't planned on returning to the Circle so soon. Or ever, if I could get away with it. I had no pressing need nor reason to do so, even had I not pretty much burned my bridges along with a large portion of the local templars. "In the interests of full disclosure, the doors are going to be open very soon, but I don't know how long the lyrium supply will be disrupted."

Godwin shrugged. "I can't imagine my contact will have stuck around waiting for the doors to open, so my last shipment is probably in black market dealers all over Ferelden by now. And I have no way of organising another one. Look, when the Tower was getting a full lyrium delivery, I had a profitable business going. So even with open doors and a steady, official supply of lyrium, I will still need to be restocked."

I really didn't want to come back here. Then again... "If the price is right," I said. Another delivery of similar size would enable me to buy a lot of equipment that I needed.

He winced.

A short, stocky figure shot through the doorway at a sprint. Noticing me, a massive grin flooded her features and she skidded to a halt, leaning to one side in an effort to balance her momentum. "By my ancestors! It is you! The templar outside of your room said that you weren't to be disturbed, but an Enchanter said that he'd seen you pass him in the corridor. It is so good to see you again Warden!"

I smiled at the dwarf. "Hello Dagna. How's things?"

"Wonderful! My treatise on the contrasting evolution of elemental spell research and application in each of the fourteen Circles of Magi was published two months ago! I was sooooo excited. The Knight-Commander told me that the Tevinter Ambassador to Ferelden actually sent me a letter saying how impressed he was with my research. And that he's extended me an offer to go and study with his brother in the Tevinter Imperium!"

I smiled at her limitless exuberance. "Yes, I received a copy, thank you. It was very interesting, I honestly had no idea that some spells were cast differently in other Circles. The Free Marches' version of the Cone of Cold spell sounds fascinating. It would be damned useful to be able to cast it as a short-ranged arc instead of the usual tightly confined cone. Have you considered extending the research to include fire and electricity elements?"

She nodded so quickly I was surprised not to hear her vertebrae creak. "I have, but my initial research indicates that only a fire burst has the potential to be modified so. Lightning travels too quickly."

Godwin cleared his throat. "Unless there's anything else I can help you with, Kathryn..." he said, with an obvious hint.

"Thank you Godwin, I was just leaving. Dagna, walk with me?"

"Sure! Oh, it's so good to see you again. I can't thank you enough for getting me a place here," she burbled as we left Godwin to play with his new haul.

I chuckled. "I didn't do much more than bring your message to the First Enchanter, as I recall. Any success you've had is entirely your own doing."

"Oh, First Enchanter Irving is so amazing! He's let me browse his personal library for research material. I mean, I've been here less than a year, and he still said that I could read anything he owns. It's all so exciting!"

"Yes, well, I suspect that it's your dwarvern heritage that smooths the way there. You're not in any danger of hurting yourself by losing control of a spell beyond your ability."

"Yes, but even so, he has so much knowledge that I've never heard of. There is magical theory in his library that contradicts established lore. I can't wait to get through it all."

I smiled at her. "Tell me, are you happy here?"

"Absolutely! It's more than I could have imagined!"

I nodded. "Well, I'd like you to consider coming and working for me at some stage in the near future. In a couple of years, I plan to establish my own Circle, one where all magical theory is fair game for study. Would you be interested in helping out?"

She gaped. "Really? What about the Chantry? Won't they object?"

I gave her a sly look. "Wardens are exempt from their oversight. My Circle would be small to start with, probably only Warden mages and apostates, but a lot of different kinds of magic would be studied there. Shape-changing magic for instance."

She frowned. "Shape-changing? What magic is that? Turning things from one shape to another? Like, transmutation?"

I nodded, then looked around the hallways. No one was in view. I dropped my pack and shimmered into my mabari form. Dagna squealed in delight.

I shifted back. "Shape-changing," I said. "Changing _your _shape."

"By the stone, I've never heard of such a thing. That is incredible. Oh, Daylen will be so impressed!"

I blinked. That was a name from the past. "Daylen? Daylen Amell?"

Dagna blushed, and bit her lip. "Um, yes. He's been helping me. With my research, that is. Do you know him?"

I nodded. A human boy who arrived at the Circle almost exactly the same time as I had. He was in most of my classes. But he and Jowan had hated each other almost at first sight, so he was never really a friend of mine. They were both academically inclined, but with diametrically opposing political views. "I spent a lot of time in classes with him, bit I don't really know him well. I'm glad he survived the mess with Uldred."

"Me too," she said softly, looking down at her hands. Suddenly, she jerked her head back up. "Shape-changing magic is so amazing! I have to learn about it. When will you be ready? Soon?"

I picked up my pack. "It will take a few years, I imagine. Don't expect it to be taught here though, the templars won't allow it."

She blinked. "Why not? It would be fascinating!"

I nodded. "It is, but the fact that a mage could turn into a bird and disappear from the tower would immediately put it on the banned list."

"Oh, I suppose so," she said, and the glum tone was shocking for the sheer novelty.

I cleared my throat to cover the moment of discomfort. "I'm heading to Orzammar tomorrow. Do you want me to take anything? A letter to your father, maybe?"

She blinked rapidly, her eyes suddenly shining in the dim light of the corridor. "Um, I don't know. I haven't, er, that is, I haven't written to my father in a while. I'm not sure..."

"Even if he's still upset at your choices, he'd still like to know that you're happy here," I said softly.

She swallowed. "You're right, of course. I'll go and write a letter now. Thank you, Warden."

"You're welcome."

I made my way back to the library, where Connor was putting the finishing touches to his letter. My templar friend was standing over the lad menacingly, waiting for him to finish. Presumably to snatch and censor the letter.

"Finished, Connor?" I asked.

The templar jerked his head up and glared at me. "You! The Knight-Commander confined you to your quarters!"

This was going to be fun. "Yes, he did. But as I explained to him, I'm not under his authority. He begrudgingly accepts that, so here I am to collect Connor's letter before something untoward befalls it."

The templar sounded unconvinced. "He let you out of your quarters to get a letter?"

I shrugged. "Who can say what intentions drive a man who makes difficult decisions?" I said philosophically. "Especially one steeped in politics and bureaucracy, such as your Knight-Commander. It is entirely possible that he has pondered his actions, and come to accept the error of his ways. My presence outside of my assigned quarters could in fact be an argument for the case that he has changed his stance and intends to govern the Circle in a far more democratic and just manner."

There was a pause as the templar process this. "Er, what?"

"I'm here, therefore I must have permission to be here," I lied evenly. "If Greagoir didn't want me to wander the tower, he'd have put a guard on my door, wouldn't he?"

That got a grunt. "I suppose so."

I clapped my hands together. "Excellent! We're all friends again. Now, Connor, are you finished? Splendid. Sign it off and I'll put that in my diplomatic pouch here, with the other reports for your father."

The templar looked as though he wanted to argue, but decided against it, and sullenly slouched his way over to his post. Connor blinked up at me as I led him out of the library. "That was mean." He glanced back and leaned closer as we walked. "Funny though," he whispered.

I smiled. "It was, wasn't it? And I imagine that he'll be in a bit of trouble for not telling Greagoir that I'm out of my room."

"There's a guard on your room, isn't there?"

"Of course."

"How did you get past him?"

I covered my mouth to stifle a giggle. "I'll tell you later. I'll even teach you when you're capable, but I wouldn't want the secret to get out too early. Just think about how much trouble you could get people in if they couldn't keep you under guard."

A slow smile grew on Connor's face, and I felt a blossoming hope for the boy's future.

I made my way back to the guest room after returning Connor to his dorm, only to hear some rather heated raised voices. Greagoir was thoroughly reaming out the guard on duty. I stepped around the corner and casually nodded to the Knight-Commander. "Greagoir," I said casually in greeting.

He spun around, face mottled with rage. "What are you doing out of your room?" he shrieked, one vein on his temple throbbing alarmingly.

I gave a casual shrug, loving the way it seemed to anger him even more. "I had a couple of other people to see. You know how it is."

"How did you get out?" he demanded.

"Through the door," I said in a tone conveying as much respect as I had for such a stupid question.

He clenched his hands into fists. "How did you leave without being seen? Did you use magic?"

I rolled my eyes. "I am a mage, Greagoir. Of course I used magic. But you didn't tell me that you wanted me to stay in there."

He trembled in rage. "I ordered you inside and placed a guard on the door! How could I have made myself clearer?"

I shrugged. "You could have simply told me to stay put. But I've done what I needed to, I'm rather tired now, and I have an early start in the morning. So if you want to keep yelling at this poor bastard, do me a favour and take it elsewhere. Cheers."

I swept past the suddenly speechless Knight-Commander and into my quarters, firmly closing the door behind me. Thunder looked up from a blanket in front of the fire, and gave me a soft bark of greeting. The monumental bollocking on the other side of the door continued.

"Hello boy, I hear you left a gift on Greagoir's chair."

"Whuff!" he barked, thumping his tail on the floor.

"I'm sure I remember telling you to crap on his pillow, not his chair."

Thunder tilted his head to one side. He whined softly, questioning.

A sudden thought occurred. "Did you crap on both his chair and bed?"

He jumped to his feet and leaped around in an excited circle. "Whuff!"

I dropped my head back and laughed. "Well done, boy! Very well done!" I scratched at his ears and accepted a rough, sloppy scrape of his tongue on my palm.

I concentrated, held out a hand and conjured a barrier over my side of the door. No one was getting through there without me knowing. Even if the templars did manage to dispel it, I'd feel it. I was safe for the moment.

I pulled out the diplomatic pouch, extracted a quill, ink and parchment, and began chronicling my misadventures since arriving at the Kinloch Hold. Alistair wouldn't be pleased with eight deaths, but honestly, the body count was less than I had feared.

* * *

><p>A few hours later, I was trying my best to ignore a hurlock screaming at me in my dreams when a shout of rage echoed throughout the tower, waking me.<p>

"**DAMN YOU WARDEN**!"

I grinned, rolled over, and fell back to sleep. The mental image of Greagoir with dog shit in his hair buoyed my mood enough that I had no more nightmares.

* * *

><p>Thunder woke me early the next morning, as I'd requested. I suspected that he'd have got me up anyway, his sense of time wasn't as accurate as Oghren's 'stone-sense' but he generally knew when he needed to befoul the royal gardens. I splashed my face with water from a basin, and dressed quickly. I wasn't going to hang around for breakfast, not when it was painfully obvious that my welcome would be worn out the instant sunlight touched the top of the tower. And without an openable window in the guest room, I had no real way of knowing just how long I had until that moment.<p>

I was half packed and ready, when there was a knock at the door. "Er, Warden? It is nearly dawn."

"Thank you," I called, stuffing the rest of my gear into my pack. I made my way over to the door, banished the barrier and tried the handle.

I was very surprised to find it wasn't locked from the outside. The door opened easily, and the guard outside cleared his throat. "Warden. I take it you are leaving us now?"

"Absolutely," I replied, walking past him and into the hallway.

He reached into one pocket and pulled out a folded piece of parchment. "Er, the dwarf Dagna stopped by, and wanted to give you this. Sorry, but I had orders not to disturb you until just before dawn. Here," he said, handing it to me, before he scurried off in the opposite direction.

Odd, I'd have thought he would have been given orders to escort me downstairs, not run off and sound the alarm. Colour me suspicious.

I made my way to the centre of the tower and down the stairs. The library only had two early-risers browsing amongst the shelves, under the less-than-watchful eye of my templar friend from last night. He was swaying slightly while in a guard stance, faint snores emanating from under his bucket helmet.

I didn't wait. Thunder's hackles were raised, and he was as tense as a piece of garrotting wire. We hurried past the dozing templar, out of the library and around the tower towards the front doors to this prison. I nodded to the two templars guarding the inner doors to the tower, the ones Greagoir had ordered barred against the abominations.

Honestly, I expected them to bar my way, but they simply opened the door, silently allowing me egress to the entrance hall.

Those last, outer doors seemed a mile away. Thunder's low growl had me ready for anything.

As it was, we got halfway to them before Greagoir's inevitable stupidity reasserted itself.

Thunder suddenly crouched down on his haunches, hackles fully raised. I knew what that meant. It meant that it was already too late for me to react. I felt, rather than heard, the doors slam shut behind me.

It only took a second for a templar to call forth a Holy Smite; so a mage's options were limited once it was in progress. Most spells took just as long or longer to cast, which made distracting the templar in question with magic difficult.

I took a deep breath and focused my mind. Thunder roared a challenge, the howl that had caused so very many of our enemies to be momentarily rendered rigid with arse-clenching fear.

Greagoir had obviously been expecting it this time. Despite Thunder's effort, his Smite crashed down around me. I mentally pushed back hard, and found the mental discipline behind Greagoir's Smite to be far less focused than I was used to. My internal reserves of mana remained within me.

Even so, I dropped to one knee under the mystical force. Thunder did not fare so well, and was hurled from my side by the assault, yelping in pain.

"I am a man of my word, Warden. Honest to a fault," Greagoir's voice snarled my own words from behind me. "The sun has risen."

I surged to my feet, unleashing a shockwave of mental energy. It was possible for a sufficiently disciplined individual to resist my spell; Greagoir had managed it just last evening. But the surprise from seeing a mage use magic after being hit with a Smite was enough to shatter their focus. I turned to see Greagoir flanked by two templars, with another four closing in on me, a pair having appeared from behind the columns on either side of the room. All seven of them looked dazed and unbalanced; my spell had been universally effective.

With a quick prayer of thanks and a check on Thunder's position, I cast a fireball that threw Greagoir and his four closest pals to the floor, each of them lightly to moderately char-grilled. I put my hands together and sent out a blast of frigid magic that froze one of the remaining templars solid. I turned and petrified the lone uninjured templar.

So far, so good. As a tactic, it was never a good idea to let a mage stun everyone in your group. Not unless you had your affairs in order. I drew Spellweaver with a steely rasp.

I shattered the frozen templar with a conjured shard of stone and the petrified one with my blade before the stunned and burned templars managed to regain their feet. Unfortunately for them, Thunder had recovered as well.

He bowled Greagoir over in a frenzied, canine rush. Whenever we were ambushed in our travels, Thunder would pick out the most dangerous of the foes we faced. He'd then close and take it down. Having a snarling, lethal hound the size of a lion crash into you tended to distract from the task at hand. The Knight-Commander was no green recruit, however. Even stunned, he had his armoured arm in Thunder's mouth before he fell over, and kept his throat protected afterwards. Despite his inability to escape from the mabari's incessant gnawing attacks, Greagoir successfully kept Thunder from killing him quickly.

The remaining four templars were not so lucky. Already injured by my fireball, they tried downing healing draughts, rather than engaging me. A terminal, tactical blunder.

I levelled Spellweaver at the nearest and spent a couple of seconds generating a torrent of lightning. The spell shot out from my sword and arced from one templar to another; two of them losing so much motor control that they dropped their healing draughts. Their metal armour attracted the magic well, but without corresponding metal greaves it grounded itself through their legs. They danced like puppets on strings.

I closed with the nearest templar and stabbed my sword into his thigh. With no protection there beyond coloured cloth, it was like stabbing a side of meat. He collapsed, head arched backwards and screaming. I silenced him with a swipe, this time between helmet and breastplate. Arterial blood spurted over my face, warm and wet.

Again, I was struck by the inexperienced way the raw templars fought. They had no plan of attack. Of the three that still stood, one rushed at me, another tried to get Thunder off the Knight-Commander, while the third downed another healing concoction. There was no cohesion, no coordination to fight as a team. Where Thunder and I fought as a unit, understanding our tactics and trusting each other, they fought as individuals.

Inexperienced individuals at that. I flicked a feint at the approaching templar's head, which caused him to react predictably, stopping his rush and raising his weapon in defence. With his defence high and balance wrong, I kicked him just as Zevran had taught me, in a manner that always generated tears in the eyes of any male witnesses. His sudden contralto scream coincided with his complete loss of defensive posture, and I stabbed my sword tip through his throat.

My mabari yelped in pain as one of the templars bashed him off Greagoir with his shield. With Thunder out of the way, I side-stepped a yard to my right, putting all three remaining foes in a narrow arc in front of me. I brought my hands together and let loose a blast of lightning, followed quickly by a blast of fire. The two green templars died under my magic, twitching and smoking. Only Greagoir was experienced enough to avoid most of the damage, rolling under and through the sparks and flames; into the clear.

Into my reach.

I whipped Spellweaver around had the point at his throat in a second.

The expression of utter fury and helplessness was a sight that would keep me warm throughout the next few winters. I gulped in air, paying down the debt I'd incurred in the past half minute.

"Seven?" I asked furiously through my gulps. "Is that all you thought it would take to bring me down? Seven templars? Have you any idea how insulting that is?"

Thunder, a great gash down one flank and favouring his right foreleg, limped closer and growled menacingly. I reached into my belt pouch and pulled out an elfroot-infused dog treat. I tossed it to my companion, who snatched it out of the air without shifting his eyes from Greagoir. The inherent magic of the morsel slowed his bleeding.

In the face of the Knight-Commander's expression promising death, I continued my taunting. "So, what do I do now? Do I kill you, or let you live so you can explain to the families of these six kids that you killed them with your idiocy?"

His snarl cracked. "How did you do that?"

"Do what? Kill templars? It's a gift I'm in the process of developing. Apparently, I have a real knack for it."

"No," he snapped. "My Smite did not affect you. What manner of unholy deal have you made?"

I glanced up at the door to the tower, the door that Greagoir had barred that day a year ago as he left the mages - Enchanters, Apprentices and children alike - to the mercies of demons. It was, once again, closed. This time, there seemed to be an argument going on behind it. Odd that despite the sounds of combat that no one had burst through.

Unless...

I looked back down at Greagoir. "Did you leave instructions for us not to be disturbed? How convenient."

He snarled ignoring my taunts. "How, Warden? _How _did you resist?"

I snarled right back at him. "Ah yes, the traditional exposition. If you don't mind, I shall start with a question to you. Are you ready, Greagoir? It's a simple question. The question is, _why, by Andraste's bloody knickers, would I tell you how I resist a Smite_?" I finished in a scream.

He actually flinched back from my shriek, delivered as it was point blank. "It's not possible!" he declared.

A slow smile spread over my face. "And that says all that needs to be said about you templars."

"What?"

"You deny reality. You're a fanatic who sees nothing but what you want to see. You believe only that which you want to believe is true. You see yourself as right because you cannot perceive the notion that you may be wrong."

"You're a danger," he shot back. "There is no doubt there!"

"No kidding? Was the big, sharp, magical knife I'm holding at your throat your first clue?"

He swallowed. "You are out of control, Warden. You need to be neutralised."

I started laughing. "Really? You actually believe that? Had you acquiesced to my request for entry last night and not tried to arrest me, no one would have been killed. I'd have conducted my business and left without blood being shed. But no, the fact that a mage is not under your control infuriates you templars. You just had to attack me. And when everything goes to shit, you blame me for having the gall to defend myself."

"You have too much power to be allowed freedom!" he spat, eyes alight with fervour.

I snarled at him. "It is not the power I wield that worries you. It is the fact that you do not control me or my power. For each templar I killed here, both last night and this morning, you have killed a score of mages or more. Tell me again, which of us has the greater influence over life and death?"

The argument on the other side of the door escalated, with raised voices in disagreement.

"I cannot kill so many with a word!" he declared.

"That is bullshit and you know it!" I shouted, putting my face as close to his as I could. "You can invoke the Right of Annulment on a tower full of innocents. Don't you remember? You jumped at the chance once before. One word from you and every soul behind that door was to be slaughtered."

"That was necessary!"

"How can you possibly still believe that? Three people and a dog proved you wrong. We managed to do the duty you and a score of templars were too terrified to undertake. You disgust me, Greagoir. You claim moral authority yet accept no responsibility. You are so damned scared that you cannot function when needed. You know what? I hope you are replaced. The pile of dog shit Thunder left on your pillow could do your job better than you."

Oops. I shouldn't have mentioned that. There was a half second of relative peace before the connection was made.

"My pillow!" he exploded, his face turning purple with incandescent rage. "I knew it! You did tell your dog to do it!"

The doors burst open. Irving strode through, dressed in his bedclothes rather than robes. He held his arms aloft, ready for action. Behind him, two templar guards were petrified solid while holding their weapons out defensively. Behind them, a dozen or so mages and templars - all of them underdressed for their battle readiness - were locked in a what looked like a silent argument, staring out through the door at me.

The tableau held for a few seconds.

Irving dropped his arms. "Oh bugger," he whispered, eyeing the corpses.

o_ooo000ooo_o

AN: Thank you to all my reviewers - Nightbrainzz, MB18932, Isabeau of Greenlea (x2), Rhagar, kija and Arsinoe de Blassenville - I sincerely appreciate your words.

I don't intend to bring in all the other origin stories. IMO, only the Human Noble and the second Magi had any real chance of surviving the Blight. It would take something special for the Dwarf Noble or City Elf to survive their stories without Duncan's presence. And Dalish Elf and Dwarf Commoner are both lost cases.

I am thoroughly enjoying Arsinoe de Blassenville's The Keening Blade, so much so that I just had to slip in a little homage to her Maude's hobby in this chapter.

And finally, happy Australia Day to .au-ians.


	9. Next stop, Orzammar

disclaimer type=standard

Anything you recognise is Bioware's. I daresay anything else belongs to them too.

/disclaimer

o_ooo000ooo_o

Cassandra covered her eyes with her hand, shaking her head slightly. "So Greagoir just attacked you with no warning? You expect me to believe that?"

Kathryn just nodded happily. "Yup, without warning sure, but it was hardly without reason. Anyway, you should have seen his expression at the end there. It was beautiful."

The Seeker looked sadly at the elf. "Do you not care that due to the unmitigated gall of the man, six people died unnecessarily at your hand?"

Instantly, Kathryn stopped laughing. "Not a bit. If you find me another six _templars _and line them up, I'll eviscerate them on the spot for you. At the time though..." She stared straight into Cassandra's eyes, apparently considering her feelings deeply. "You know what? Nope, not then either. I was more annoyed at the fact I had to spend time adding to my report about the incident."

The Seeker shook her head, but she could not begrudge the mage her attitude to the templars who had attacked her. And in the privacy of her own thoughts, Cassandra admitted that she had often felt more exasperated by the requirement to document the discoveries she made in the course of her duties, than by the deaths of any malcontents standing in her way. "Would you tell me how you manage to resist a templar's Holy Smite?" she asked as politely as she could manage.

Kathryn gave an insouciant flick of her hair. "_Can_ I resist a Holy Smite?" she asked with a fake tone of surprised wonder. "I was under the impression that Justinia the somthing-th, your boss, made some sort of holy declaration that I could not. She said it was impossible, therefore I couldn't. Something like that."

Cassandra bit back her first response. "The Fifth. Justinia the Fifth. And that was a necessary falsehood. The very idea that a mage could shrug off a Holy Smite caused some discontent among the templars."

"Discontent?" blurted the mage. "After the rumour spread that Smites didn't work on me, if I so much as said 'boo' to a templar they soiled themselves."

Cassandra nodded slowly, carefully concealing her annoyance. "Just so. This ability is the subject of some debate among Chantry scholars. Please, how did you gain it?"

Kathryn sighed deeply, her damaged voice deepening. "I don't suppose it matters now. To tell the truth, I'm surprised the secret has lasted this long. During the Blight, we often battled what we Wardens call 'Emissaries'; darkspawn who use magic. Alistair's templar skills worked just as well on them as they do on mages, but one specific fight went poorly quickly when one Emissary resisted his Holy Smite and continued battering us with spells."

A cold shiver ran down the Seeker's spine. She had assumed that the resistance had been an ability unique to this mage. That a _darkspawn_ of all things also possessed the ability was horrifying.

The Warden nodded at her, acknowledging her realisation. "Yep, it scared the pants off us too. In our campfire discussions, we thought that it may be an acclimatised resistance, rather than an inherent talent."

The Seeker frowned and shook her head. "That makes no sense. Where would a darkspawn mage encounter a templar to develop such a resistance?"

Kathryn actually looked quite abashed. "I know, I know. It was a case of willful ignorance; I didn't want to consider the idea that it was a talent. I _really _wanted to learn how to do it. So, every night in camp for the next six weeks, I had Alistair hit me with a Smite."

Cassandra blinked, completely taken aback. "You... deliberately had your companion call down Holy Smites upon you? Are you _insane_?"

The mage nodded glumly. "Yep. That I had him Smite me, that is," she clarified. "The other... maybe. Those six weeks were the most miserable time of my life. All the more so because I was just letting him Smite me, and hoping that I developed some sort of resistance to them. I was getting nothing but exhaustion migraines and bruises from hitting the ground. Eventually - even my stubborn idiocy has limits - I discarded that hypothesis and developed another; that a mage could 'fight off' a Smite."

"Fight off?"

"Yeah. A mage who has been told all their life that a Smite is the Maker's way of keeping them in check sort of winces when they know it's coming. Like you tense up at the sound of a birch rod whistling through the air before it strikes you. That's exactly the wrong tactic, a mage who does that has already given in to the Smite." A slow smile grew on the elf's face. "However, when you're used to the pain, you can force yourself to figuratively stand up and face it. You pit your mental discipline and strength against the those of the templar. If you are stronger, the Smite doesn't affect you."

Cassandra could not stop her jaw from dropping at a sudden thought. "The ability is learned? Wait! If that is the case, why were you so worried about the prospect of being struck the evening you arrived at Kinloch Hold?"

Kathryn sat silently for a moment before answering. "I have not had the pleasure of fighting off multiple templars at once."

"That's not the real reason, is it?"

Another long pause. "Not exactly."

Cassandra considered the elf. "You can't do it every time, can you? You said that you pit your mental strength against the templar's discipline. So it's not a certain thing."

The Warden made a face. "No, it's not. I'll back myself against any templar, face to face, one on one, but against twenty? No chance. It was why I didn't pull any punches and went for the kill." She paused, and gave the Seeker an evaluating stare. "You know, you are quite good at this interrogation thing. I've not met many Chantry priests or templars who can employ logic. Well, it doesn't matter any more if you tell anyone. I'm not the only mage who knows about it now."

"Not the... Who else knows about this?"

"The Wardens, obviously. I'd be remiss if I failed to show other Warden mages how to defend themselves. Didn't you notice how Anders never seemed to worry too much about templars? Even when they were sniffing around his clinic in Darktown?" Kathryn tapped her chin with one finger. "But I don't think I'm quite ready to tell you who else."

The Seeker bit the inside of her cheek in frustration, but let it go. It was far more important to calm the tension between them. "Well, would you explain this shapechanging ability? Leliana reported that the apostate witch you travelled with during the Blight taught you the skill, but her understanding was limited."

Kathryn nodded. "She did. The spells involved in changing your shape are quite simple to learn; they are no more difficult to master than any other complex spell routinely taught in the Circles. It is the knowledge of the animal form that is the difficult part - though I discovered that knowledge gained in the Fade can be used in the mortal world."

"The Fade?" Cassandra said, perplexed. "What do you mean?"

The elf sighed deeply. "To save the Circle during the Blight, we were forced into the Fade by a Sloth Demon. While there, I picked up the ability for my Fade-self to take the form of a mouse. While the technique to change form while in the Fade is completely different to shapeshifting in the real world, the knowledge I gained from running around a maze in rodent form stayed with me. Enough so that I can use the shapeshifting spells to turn into a mouse."

"You, you learned to turn into a mouse... while in the Fade?"

Kathryn sighed again, even more deeply this time. "No," she said, frustration colouring her tone. "Look, you're not a mage, so it might not make sense to you. In the Fade, a mage can... alter things. It just takes an effort of will. I learned to will myself into the form of a mouse, and the knowledge of how a mouse's body works stayed with me once we escaped. Morrigan was quite disdainful of the fact that I learned the shape that way, and took every opportunity to turn up her nose at my form."

"I see. And you picked up your other forms the normal way?"

"Yes, through study and examination. Thunder was obviously a great help, though he found the attention a bit odd at times. And I needed to examine the corpses of some female hounds before I could successfully change into a mabari. Changing gender adds a level of complexity that I wasn't prepared to test my skill against."

Cassandra gave a dutiful nod. "I shall take your word for it. How-"

Kathryn held up a hand. "I'm not here to give a lecture on the methodologies and intricacies of changing form. May I continue my story with what happened after I left the Circle?"

o_ooo000ooo_o

The templar named Aaron rowed Thunder and me over to the shore in almost total silence; nothing but the metallic clank of oar in oarlock, the splash of water on hull and, when I shifted slightly in my seat, an occasional terrified whimper. Something Thunder found most amusing.

Once at the docks, I wordlessly jumped out and helped Thunder scrabble onto the dew-dampened pier. Aaron waited until we'd reached land before deciding it was safe enough to get out of the boat himself.

It occurred to me that this wasn't the first time I'd travelled around Ferelden, stopping at the Circle, Orzammar and the Brecilian Forest. With any luck, I wouldn't be obliged to spend weeks sorting out life-threatening problems belonging to other people. Of course, this time I didn't desperately need their help.

I stomped my way over to the Spoiled Princess. Despite the relatively calm boat trip, my blood was still up, my heart still pounding audibly in my chest. I didn't expect much in the way of activity in the inn this early in the morning, but Eamon's agent William was sitting at one of the tables. Despite the early hour, he was impeccably dressed and sipping tea from a china cup. He looked up as I entered, daubed his upper lip with a napkin and rose to his feet in greeting. "Good morning, Warden-Commander," he said, his bow precisely the depth it should be.

I fidgeted uncomfortably. The fussy little man's exquisite courtesy made me feel like an unlettered oaf. I deliberately refused to use titles to annoy nobles, and it worked mostly because they expected it of others, yet didn't feel the need to return such courtesy. It amused Alistair, but infuriated most of the rest of his court.

William Larkworthy was a commoner whose raw oratorical ability had raised him to be one of Ferelden's most skilled ambassadors, diplomats and negotiators. A commoner who was unfailingly polite to everyone he met regardless of birth status, wealth, gender or race. It made me question why I never used titles. Was I being childish, or... no. Another time. "Good morning, William. The templar Aaron is waiting for you on the docks. Greagoir has agreed to enter into negotiations with you, though it may be a few hours before he is composed enough to accommodate you."

"Splendid. Well done. We feared for your safety last night, having heard a few muffled booms, but there were more of the same less than an hour ago, so we judged it simply the norm for an institution dedicated to training mages. Judging by your unexpectedly early return, I trust there was none of your cynically dreaded unpleasantness?"

I coughed. "Er, not exactly."

"Oh? Is the mood on the island disagreeable?"

I nodded slowly. "Yes," I said, drawing out the answer. "My arrival last night was definitely unwelcome. Those explosions you heard? That was me. I was attacked after I refused to disarm, undress, and submit to their mercy. And then I was attacked again this morning while waiting for the ferry."

He managed to keep his expression carefully blank. "I see. Were there any casualties?"

I swallowed. "A few."

Even behind his blank expression, there was considerable disapproval. "I see. Two? Three?" He took in my expression. "More?"

I winced. "Fourteen. Eight last night and another six this morning."

"Fourt-" he blurted, eyes wide, before getting himself under control He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "I... I see. That will make things more difficult."

"You could always threaten to have me return to conduct the negotiations on your behalf," I said with a fake, jovial smile.

His expression barely changed, but he radiated disapproval. "The Arl of Redcliffe commissioned me to conduct these negotiations in good faith, Warden-Commander. I have no desire to cause His Excellency or Their Majesties any embarrassment due to failures on my part. I thank you for your efforts in gaining access to the island, but I feel I must insist that you take no further part in the discussions."

I waved a hand. "No fear. I'm putting as much distance between that blasted tower and me as I can." I pulled out a sheet of vellum and held it out to him. "I've written a report on what happened last night. Alistair needs to know before he gets a visit from the Grand Cleric in Denerim."

He made no move to take it. "Add the events of this morning, if you please. His Majesty will need a full accounting. I have a messenger waiting who will take word back to His Excellency."

I groaned inwardly, but nodded and sat down opposite him. I pulled out the report I'd written last night, took William's proffered quill, and added this morning's unpleasantness. I wrote down what I could and resealed the parchment. Eamon was going to have a fit.

That thought cheered me.

* * *

><p>The weather on the first day of the trip north around the tip of Lake Calenhad was miserable.<p>

Having grown up in the Circle, I'd never been allowed outside the tower. My trip south from the Circle to Ostagar with Duncan was an enchanting time, where the smell of grass, the joy of splashing in a puddle and the wonder of standing among rustling trees all mesmerised me. It certainly amused Duncan, who couldn't decide whether to laugh at my antics or pity me for my upbringing. But there was one thing I didn't like about the outdoors. The sodding rain. If you had a warm bath and dry place to sleep, snow could quite fun to frolic in for short periods. And snowball fights were an unexpected delight I'd taken to with gusto, much to Sten's bafflement. Warm sunshine was uplifting in a way few things could hope to match, and the stars were just incredible. But rain really soured my mood.

It helped that I was on horseback. Wearing a thick, woollen cloak merely meant that I was uncomfortably damp, as opposed to utterly miserable, like the soldiers marching in the rain behind me. The first camp away from the tower, there was a great deal of grumbling at the amount of effort required to re-oil chain or splint mail armour. Archdemon-bone was waterproof (actually, almost entirely element-proof), but the straps and buckles needed some attention.

The rain finally let up the next day, and Thunder amused himself chasing rabbits in the cool morning air. He did manage to catch the occasional bunny, but only those that didn't do something dastardly devious, like suddenly change direction mid-chase. Observing a lion-sized dog watch helplessly as he continued on down his chosen vector while his furry target made a sharp turn and raced away on a perpendicular line completely wiped away my sour mood. Even Captain Francois' grim features shattered, the edges of his lips twitching upwards. He covered it quickly, of course.

As we approached the crest of a small rise, Thunder's ears pricked up. He stood stock still and stared forward for a moment. He then turned his head and looked up at me, his eyes hopeful. He gave me a soft, pleading whine.

"What is it, boy?" I asked.

He barked happily, and raced away up the road and over the hill, his claws throwing up small clods of damp earth behind him in his haste. I urged my horse forward at a trot, still not comfortable riding it at faster speeds. I crested the hill to see Thunder wrestling with a midnight-black mabari halfway down the slope on the other side. The two dogs suddenly separated and began chasing one another across the muddy landscape, barking with joyous abandon.

Ahead was a small camp of armed men, bustling to break down. I shook my head and waited for my escort to catch up.

"It would appear we have some old friends waiting for us," I said over my shoulder with a smile.

Captain Francois nodded. "So it would seem, Warden-Commander."

We made our way down the small hill and into the camp. Soldiers nodded to us in greeting while breaking down tents and packing gear. "Kathryn!" Aedan shouted, giving me a friendly wave as he paused from adjusting some straps on his horse.

"Aedan," I greeted him with a nod. "Fancy meeting you here."

"I know! Totally unexpected and completely random," he replied with insincere innocence.

"You seem to be getting ready to move out," I said with a grin, looking around at the bustling soldiers.

"Oh, you know, camping in the one spot can become frightfully dull. Time to move on and all that rot."

I glanced around at the camp. "There's two night's worth of ash in the fire pit," I pointed out. "And those tents your men are packing away are still damp from yesterday's rain."

"There's nothing wrong with your powers of observation," he said easily, setting the last buckle and patting his horse's neck.

I chuckled at his banter. "I take it you're heading towards Orzammar."

Aedan sobered, and mounted his horse. "Yes. Almost all the usable metal in Highever was stripped for the war effort, there are barely enough pots and pans left to cook for everyone. I know that's not unique in Ferelden and the moment, but we've barely enough iron for the essential repairs to the city. And with all the citizens Howe abducted and sold to the slavers, we don't have the manpower to bring the disused mines on the coast up to speed. The Amaranthine mines have been unproductive due to the darkspawn in the area." He suddenly grinned at my, and once again I felt an odd feeling in my stomach at the sight. "That's something you're going to have lots of fun dealing with."

I frowned, ignoring the jest. "Don't the dwarves have ore merchants in Highever? They'd be able to set you up with a reliable supply."

He pursed his lips and glanced around. In a low voice, he replied, "We can't afford it; the mark up charged by the dwarvern agents is obscene. Fergus wants me to find a dealer in Orzammar and negotiate a contract directly. I studied father's account books, and they indicate that we might be able to get as much as a third more iron and steel, and maybe double the silverite, for the same price if we just get it direct from the source."

I nodded, and said, "And you just decided to take a break from this urgent diplomatic mission, and made camp at the northern tip of Lake Calenhad for a couple of days?"

He smiled at me. "Well, you _were_ due to come by," he pointed out, as though my movements were a perfectly acceptable reason to temporarily abandon a duty. "I thought you'd like some company."

I jerked my head back at the playing dogs. "Thunder and Shadow certainly agree. And I suppose I could do with someone to chat with on the trip."

He inclined his head. "That's the spirit! I would be honoured to entertain you."

"Now," I said firmly, "what is the real reason?"

Aedan blinked at me, but laughed. "I suppose acting innocent won't get me anywhere, will it?"

I shook my head. "No."

He sighed. "We need your help. _I _need your help."

I sighed as well, but for a much different reason. Here we go again. Yet another noble with delusions of adequacy expecting me to drop everything and solve a problem both completely beyond their ability and nothing to do with me.

Aedan didn't notice my sudden surliness. "You are very well thought of in Orzammar, and I could use that. All I ask is that you accompany me for the initial discussions with metal dealers. I don't expect you to take part in any negotiations, but being in your company will open doors to me that would remain closed otherwise."

I blinked. Huh. Well _that _was unexpected. Aedan didn't want me to do anything except stand there, and he'd do the rest? Colour me impressed. Maybe I was being a bit too egocentric, but damn it, ever since Duncan levered me out from under the Circle's governance, it seemed that most of Ferelden couldn't survive without my assistance. "How are you intending to transport this ore?"

"Ingots, not ore; we can't refine it as well as the dwarves, and it needs ten times as many wagons to transport, with commensurate costs. To answer your question, we'll be using dwarvern wagoneers to start with, but I plan to commission some Highever or Amaranthine wagoneers to create a supply line to Orzammar eventually. We need to keep at least some of the tax revenue in the teyrnir's economy."

I rubbed my chin. "You don't think it would be easier, not to mention cheaper, to set up supply lines to the west coast of Lake Calenhad?"

That earned me a sidelong glance. "No. They need to go to the source."

"But if the metal could be picked up from there... Would it be cheaper? Easier?"

He frowned, trying to work out what I was saying. "Yes, I suppose so. Half the expense goes to outfitting the wagons for mountain travel. But why would I do that? The metal will come from Orzammar," he insisted.

"Did Alistair tell your brother why I'm going to visit Bhelen?"

"No, just that it was to help cement the good will between the Kings. Why? Is there more to it?"

I nodded. "Oh yes. I'm not supposed to talk about it until I get to Orzammar, but I suggest that you and your brother look around the western side of the lake for suitable places to set up supply depots. If you need a bit of direction, I suggest that just to the south of the most westerly tip of the lake. Yes, that would be an excellent place."

Aedan frowned. "There's nothing down there but darkspawn, the road to Redcliffe and the occasional abandoned farmstead."

"Not yet. But give it a few months."

* * *

><p>The rains came down once again for most of the rest of the trip to Orzammar. Hunched under my woollen cloak, I allowed myself to be distracted by Aedan's incessant questions about the dwarfs, their Thaigs and their culture. Though I hardly considered myself an expert, the fact that I'd spent weeks underground with them meant that I knew far more about Ferelden's stout neighbours than the vast majority of my countrymen. I described my adventures in detail, and Aedan soaked it all up. He often interrupted me to ask pertinent questions, teasing out details I had forgotten or not considered important.<p>

We spoke about the politics of the Assembly, the caste system, and the best place to get a decent drink.

By the time we reached the front gates of Orzammar, I was more than ready to get in out of the rain, and Aedan said he felt ready to get to work.

The guard at the front gate initially greeted us cordially, but warmed up when he noticed the griffons on my breastplate. He requested the our escort make camp past the market area outside, but waved Aedan, Thunder, Shadow and me through.

We descended down in the travelling box, to the Hall of Paragons. Aedan's first glimpse of the dwarvern Thaig was everything he'd hoped, delighted at the mechanisms for controlling and diverting the flow of molten rock. He spent a few moments examining the statues of the Paragons, noting names and accomplishments.

After his curiosity was sated, we moved on into the city proper. The merchant quarter was bustling, far more lively than the last time I had been here. It seemed that every third dwarf recognised me and gave a wave and a shouted greeting. I returned as many as I could, just glad that the taciturn race weren't of a mind to try mobbing me.

We made our way towards the Diamond quarter, but I noticed something about the crowd. There were a handful of branded dwarves among the faces. They were hauling a cart full of ore, or carrying boxes, or cleaning up nug droppings, but the casteless were visible, and _working_. We stepped aside to let a cart trundle past.

"That's new," I muttered to Aedan.

"What's that?"

With a nod of my head towards a bald dwarf whose face was more tattoo than naked skin, who was loading barrels into a waiting wagon. "The casteless weren't allowed to work the last time I was here."

An elderly dwarf merchant behind us scoffed and spat a gob of some sort of chewed root onto the lava behind him. I suppose it would be an effective garbage disposal method.

"Aye. King Bhelen's idea. Never though' I'd ever want to see dem brands out o' Dust Town, but dey're willin' to do da grun' work righ' enough. My boy's boys are out learnin' the trade instead o' hauling stock around. 'Slike another pair o' hands runnin' the store, ye ken?"

"You think it's a good idea?" I asked, puzzling through the odd speech.

He made a face. "It's profitable, I'll gran' ye. Gotta keep an eye on the dirty buggers, o' course. An' I'm no' happy abou' havin' te look at 'em all over the place. But aye, we ain't been this busy in years. King Bhelen's ideas are gettin' this Thaig movin' again."

We nodded, thanked the dwarf for his time, and headed into the Diamond Quarter. Aedan's eyes widened at the architecture, making him look like, well, like I did the first time I was here. We presented ourselves at the Palace gates, and we were admitted instantly.

We didn't even have time to sit in the antechamber before the doors ahead opened and admitted a familiar figure.

"Warden," the dwarf said neutrally, nodding in greeting.

I put on a false smile, spread my hands and with as much enthusiasm as I could muster shouted, "Vartag!" I added '_you disgusting, oily toe-rag'_ under my breath and behind my smile. I'd have said it out loud, but that would have been undiplomatic, even for me. "It's good to see you again," I lied. "May I present Aedan Cousland, brother of Teyrn Fergus of Highever." Aedan bowed deeply.

Bhelen's second accepted my false greeting and returned Aedan's bow. "Welcome to Orzammar, Warden. My lord. I am sure King Bhelen would be most eager to grant you an audience. However, he is currently mired in some complex negotiations with the heads of some surface merchant families."

I grinned. "And no doubt securing all sorts of promises and concessions his opponents had no intention of granting when the negotiations started."

Even through his unkempt beard I could see the dwarf's lips twitch. "No doubt," he agreed. "I am certain however, that he could be interrupted for important Warden business."

Well, I guess that could be translated as, _what do you sodding well want_? "Actually, I'm not here on Warden business, Vartag. At least, not directly. I want things to settle down before I begin recruiting. I have a proposal from Alistair to Bhelen; one that would take advantage of the current dearth of darkspawn and strengthen both Ferelden and Orzammar."

Vartag nodded slowly, his shrewd eyes flicking between Aedan and me. "I see. I shall inform King Bhelen of your arrival and your intention. Please accept our hospitality in the meantime." He turned to a guard. "Escort the Warden and Lord Aedan to the throne room."

The stout guard nodded, bashed his armour in salute and fell into step beside me. Without a word, we were taken to the large throne room where a vaguely familiar dwarf woman in a scarlet dress waited.

She bowed deeply to us. "Welcome, Warden-Commander. My lord of Highever."

Aedan and I dipped our heads in response. "Thank you." I looked her over, noting the small brand on her cheek. "Rica, isn't it?"

She smiled at me. "You remember. Yes, I am Rica, the King's consort. Please, make yourself comfortable. Would you care for some wine?"

I nodded and sat down at the indicated table. Aedan sat at my left. "Thank you. How is your son?"

"Full of life and personality. He drives me to distraction, but I love him all the more for it." She picked up a dusty bottle and poured three glasses of scarlet liquid. "I'm afraid my education has not extended far into surface drinks. I hope this wine is satisfactory."

I laughed softly. "Given I was essentially raised by templars, I suspect that your knowledge far outstrips mine. Aedan here will be the person to ask."

With a smile, Aedan took one of the crystal glasses and swirled it around before raising it to his nose and inhaling deeply. "Antivan," he said after a moment. "From the Fortunys vineyards." He took a small sip, swirling the liquid around in his mouth before swallowing. "From the year 9:10 or :12, I suspect."

Rica blinked, looking very surprised. "I am impressed, my lord."

Aedan graced her with his broad, genuine smile, which oddly sent a pang of jealousy through me. "My father insisted that my brother and I learn all we could about identifying wines. Please do not think that I am an expert, however. I only recognised this wine and year because it comes from a vineyard owned by my late sister-in-law's family. There were always several bottles of Fortunys wine available during our family dinners."

"It is still most impressive, my lord. I must focus my efforts."

He waved that away. "Despite what they would have you believe, most nobles and self-proclaimed wine experts are not that good at it. Most rely on the advice of their sommeliers."

I blinked, never having heard the term. "Their what?"

"An Orlesian word that means 'wine-steward'. Someone trained to manage a wine cellar, procure quality wines and match a specific vintage to a particular meal."

I gave him an incredulous look. "Nobles hire people to take care of their wine for them? Seriously? Like, for pay?"

He laughed, and after a moment of tension, Rica joined in. "It is more common in Orlais of course, where having the resources to have a sommelier on retainer is something of a social requirement in certain circles. And having good advice on what to eat with a wine adds to the enjoyment of both. This vintage for example, is best served with hearty, rustic food. I imagine a good spit-roast nug would be a good match."

My stomach growled audibly at the thought.

Both Aedan and Rica laughed at my rueful smile. "I can request such from the kitchen if you desire, Warden-Commander," the dwarf offered.

"Oh, yes please!" I said with delight.

The wine did indeed go well with roasted nug. Aedan gave our dwarvern hostess some pointers on identifying the vintage and origin of wines, and suggestions on what to serve with the different varieties. Bhelen's casteless consort soaked up the knowledge as well as Aedan had on our trip, with unending curiosity about the surface world.

Almost as soon as the plates were cleared, Bhelen entered with Vartag and a pair of elderly dwarfs in tow. We gave the proper greetings, and sat down around a clear table. After the traditional small talk, I started Alistair's spiel by talking about the dwarvern army and its success on the surface. "Your warriors were a force to be reckoned with," I complimented. "He's already given you an official thank you, but Alistair wanted me to thank you again informally. Gratitude doesn't honestly reflect itself through diplomatic dispatches."

Bhelen nodded graciously. "Indeed. I was pleasantly surprised at the number of warriors who returned. Your King has an almost dwarvern knack for battle tactics and strategy; and keeping troops alive."

I nodded, deciding not to point out that it was Loghain who was responsible for the army's tactics and the corresponding lack of casualties. "Alistair would like to improve relations between Ferelden and Orzammar, in the hope that we can work together to strengthen both our peoples."

Bhelen nodded, completely expressionless. "A worthy goal. With the Blight ended, the darkspawn have retreated from the surface once more. Any assistance we can get from our Brother King would be welcome," he said with diplomatic neutrality.

I raised an eyebrow. "Do you really think that the darkspawn are the biggest threat the dwarves of Orzammar face?"

Vartag coloured, and opened his mouth to speak, but Bhelen shook his head slightly. "I am curious, Warden, what is it that you believe is the biggest threat we dwarves face?"

"Your declining population."

Bhelen actually cracked a small smile. "In the long term, I suspect you may be correct. Yet I hardly think the humans would be of any direct assistance there."

I chuckled at the unexpected jest. "True. But that's not what I meant. Have you asked the Shaperate for your population numbers recently?"

The dwarf King shook his head. "Things have been a little busy recently, Warden. What with the Blight and all."

"Yes, but even a cursory look shows some disturbing trends. Did you know that more of your people have died in the past five years at the hands of other dwarves than were killed by darkspawn? And that's including the Legion of the Dead."

"Our laws deal with such matters. Effectively."

I nodded. "They do, but not the underlying problem."

Bhelen's eyes narrowed. "What would you know of our problems?"

"An outsider can see things that others miss due to familiarity. Your population is small, yes, but the darkspawn have taken so much of your territory that there isn't enough room in Orzammar for you all. Deshyrs argue, plot and fight other deshyrs over what little territory remains. That is the biggest threat you face."

"You have a solution to offer, Warden?" Vartag snarled.

I nodded. "With the darkspawn population thinned out by their defeat on the surface, you have an almost unheard of opportunity. I have no doubt that there are several expeditions planned or in progress to scour the nearby tunnels now that they're relatively clear of darkspawn."

Bhelen snorted softly. "The deshyrs of Orzammar are predictable it seems."

I grinned at him. "They are indeed. But instead of simple expeditions, why not try something a little more ambitious? Permanently reclaim some of your lost territory. With larger territory, there would be more opportunities for hemmed in families." I handed Aedan the diplomatic pouch, and at my nod, he pulled out Alistair's missive and maps. With his longer reach, he was able to spread them over the table more effectively than me. "There are three Thaigs we know of under Ferelden territory, and the King's cartographers have identified probable Deep Road entrances nearby on the surface to each. The major problem in reclaiming those Thaigs is establishing and protecting stable supply routes." I gestured at the maps, surface and subterranean, side by side. Bhelen looked down at them, suddenly seeming a lot more positive.

"These are good work," he said admiringly, tracing some of the Deep Road paths marked on the Ferelden map.

"To secure supply lines in the Deep Roads, you'd have to assign over half your warriors to guard the shipments. And they travel through tunnels with any number of potential ambush sites. Alistair is suggesting that you use Ferelden territory to establish the supply lines, and perhaps even permanent trading posts near these Deep Road entrances. Once the initial supply caches were ready, you could march your troops through either the Deep Roads or across the surface. With no darkspawn to interfere with the supplies, the logistics of retaking and holding the Thaigs would be vastly simplified."

Bhelen poured over the maps as I spread them out. Even under the thick beard and his usual blank, negotiating face, I could sense his interest. Even Vartag's permanent expression of oily condescension had faded as the idea took hold.

I continued, laying out my high card. "Imagine that if instead of the short-term profit from these one-off looting expeditions, you could reclaim those three Thaigs in the next five years. With all that territory, and the mineral resources that would suddenly become available to exploit, your deshyrs would be more interested in establishing control over new areas instead of fighting each other over the old."

"And what would your King get from this arrangement?" Vartag asked pointedly.

I shrugged, gesturing at the missive. "It's all there. He'd get tax revenue from the increased trade, but his major benefit would come from the increased availability of material commodities. He needs coin of course, but also metal and stone." I waved towards Aedan. "Highever itself has a great need for your exports to rebuild."

Aedan nodded, his eyes alight, jumping to take advantage for his brother. "Highever is a deep water port and a major trading centre on the Waking Sea. Commodities shipped there could be transported almost anywhere in Thedas, opening markets in Rivain, Antiva and even Par Vollen. Materials that you need could be transported directly to these supply dumps - weapons, armour, timber, food, fuel. All the things you will need to fortify your Thaigs, but with a much shorter and safer supply chain. You wouldn't need to ship all your goods through the mountain pass."

"It will take time for such a venture to be profitable," Vartag said pointedly.

"Of course. It will also take decades to get Ferelden close to Alistair's vision. But we have only a small opportunity to bring these Thaigs back under dwarvern control before the darkspawn numbers grow again. The effort is expended now, the profit comes later. Of course, that leads into my ulterior motive too."

Bhelen looked up from the maps at me. "Oh?"

"Now that the Blight is over, I need to rebuild the Ferelden Grey Wardens. And to keep them in form I'm going to need access to darkspawn." I grinned nastily. "You really are selfish, keeping them all to yourself," I said, wagging my finger at him jokingly.

Bhelen actually smiled back. "Do not blame us. We let you have them and they came back after a year. Apparently, you're not particularly gracious hosts."

I laughed out loud. "Touché. But if your people can claim and hold these Thaigs, when the darkspawn do return in numbers, I guarantee that the Wardens will stand with you to hold the lines, and even work with the Legion of the Dead to send scouting parties and sorties deep into darkspawn-controlled territory. We will need the practise, not having consistent access to them on the surface."

Bhelen nodded, once more looking down at the maps, measuring distances off with his fingers. I noted that he was focusing his attention almost exclusively on the Aeducan Thaig. Alistair would be pleased at his deduction. "This is an intriguing proposal, Warden. Let me read over your King's missive and consult my advisors."

I nodded. "Of course."

I was surprised to discover that the Wardens maintained a small compound in the Diamond Quarter. I suppose that Wardens coming here for their Calling would want a comfortable place to stay before they headed out to their deaths.

I had some errands to run, and Aedan was more than happy to stay at the compound to wait for Bhelen's response. One of the older dwarfs who I'd taken as Bhelen's advisors was actually the head of a branch of the Aeducan family. As such, he had a personal stake in reclaiming the old Aeducan Thaig, and was keen to see it become a profitable venture quickly. Having Aedan's brother supply the Thaig with food, timber and fuel in return for the needed metals made sense, and the pair were keen to discuss the plan.

After all, with a lean treasury, Fergus would probably prefer to pay with goods rather than gold.

And, judging from the snippets I heard, the Aeducan family was keen to deal directly with the Highever Teyrn, cutting out the middle-dwarf to maximise their profits.

Thunder and I left our friends at the Warden Compound and headed out into Orzammar. The subterranean city had not physically changed since our last visit, but the mood certainly had.

Political stability suited the city's inhabitants. The changes Bhelen had enacted appeared to be working well. The merchants were well-stocked, the streets were orderly and the throng of dwarves all looked to be doing something important. There were several dwarves with missing limbs, but they were all proudly wearing armour and looked well-fed and healthy enough; they weren't begging to survive.

Familiar faces continued to call out greetings to me, which I returned. The Grey Wardens were held in high esteem here, especially after ending the Blight so quickly. The lyrium-addled trader whose name I couldn't quite remember stuttered a greeting, and took some of the loot I'd collected off my hands. Dagna's father even allowed me to deliver her message before he summarily ejected me from his store. His mood was definitely much improved since the last time I'd visited.

I browsed the many stalls in the Quarter; selling the rest of the trinkets I'd picked up on the trip and trying to get a feel for any lyrium shortage. There didn't seem to be one; I managed to buy a large pouch of lyrium dust quite cheaply, plus some other crafting reagents. Enough to refill my much-lighter potion bandoleer.

After a brief stop at Tapsters for a quick pint and a bowl of nug stew each, Thunder and I meandered our way into Dust Town.

There were still beggars, but far fewer than last time; mostly disabled rather than unemployable. The casteless certainly looked more prosperous, but that was only a manner of degree. It was still, by any measure, a slum.

It took a while, and talking to quite a few dwarves, before I managed to track down Rogek, Godwin's lyrium dealer.

"Aye, Warden. I've got some more stuff. But the tall streak of piss in that tower ain't been able to get his last delivery. It's no skin off my knuckles if he don't get it, I keep the finder's fee that way. But my usual delivery dwarf is out of pocket, and hauling around that stuff until he finds a buyer is mighty dangerous, what with those religious nutters in charge of the trade."

I frowned. "What's that got to do with me?"

"You? Nuffin'. But you might want to tell your friend that he needs to make right to my delivery dwarf, or he ain't getting another lot until I can find someone else to make the run."

I nodded as I handed over a pouch of gold in return for a sealed container. "Fair enough. What's your delivery dwarf's name?" I asked.

Rogek's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "None of your business, Warden," he snapped.

"Maybe it is," I said with a smile. "Once I start rebuilding the Grey Wardens, I'm going to need access to this stuff on occasion, and I don't fancy negotiating with the Chantry. I was just going to offer to buy it from him if he ever can't get it into the tower again."

"Is that so? This ain't the usual refined dust that you surfacers see. This stuff is raw, and takes a dwarf or a mage to work it proper-," he stopped at my expression, or possibly at the purple fire dancing on my upraised palm. "Oh. Er, right. I forgot. Well, I might just mention it to him the next time I see him. He's not one for advertising his services, get my drift?"

I nodded with a grin. "Understood. If I can't secure a supply for the Wardens, I might have some work for you."

He scoffed and spat on the ground, looking mighty suspicious. "Why would you bother with the likes of me? There's any number upstairs who'd be happy to set you up with a steady supply, and cheaper than what I can do it for."

"There's no supply issue at the moment?" I asked. "I heard there was some problems with getting it out."

He barked a laugh, which turned into a raspy cough. "Nay, with the darkspawn thinned out, new veins have become available. There's even talk of stockpiling it. Hope they do."

"Why?" I asked idly, wondering why there was a lyrium shortage at the Circle, but not anywhere else.

"'Cause I got some of my boys and girls guarding the warehouses. Nicking it from there is much easier than swiping it from the mining crews in the tunnels."

* * *

><p>I returned to the Diamond Quarter deep in thought. Aedan was still engrossed in hushed, complex-sounding negotiations with several dwarves when I arrived back at the compound. I left him to it and claimed a bedchamber; one with a bath. The runes embedded above the bathtub caused hot or cold water to be released, and I briefly debated grabbing a notebook instead of taking the bath.<p>

The prospect of hot water won out, and I lay back in the stone tub, luxuriating in the sensation. Not even the royal palace had such facilities. I closed my eyes and let my mind mull the problem.

The lyrium shortage. Well, the _apparent _shortage. There no such lack in Orzammar, but at the end of the supply chain, the Circle had it's ration cut by four fifths. So where was the lyrium going missing?

Well, I'd need to know how the supply line would work first. I had to assume that the Chantry was still getting its full, contracted amount. The dwarves would not settle for anything less than total compliance to the letter of the contract. Did it go to Val Royeaux first and then out to the various Chantries of Thedas, or was it shipped directly to the Grand Clerics and distributed from there?

Shipping it directly would be the most efficient way of distributing it, but the Chantry wasn't anywhere close to being the textbook-definition for intelligence. No, they were cowardly, suspicious and paranoid, so the shipment probably went directly to the Divine, or at least, to a place the Divine's trusted agents controlled. From there, it would be rationed out. It would be safe to assume that each ration would go to the Grand Clerics, and further distributed within each country from there.

So, assuming that was how the supply chain was set up, either the Divine or the Ferelden Grand Cleric was skimming; or even possibly both were. If on the odd chance the Ferelden Grand Cleric got her delivery straight from the dwarves, then she was the only probable culprit. Given the pitiful amount going through to the Circle, the skimming had to be sanctioned.

Or it could be getting stolen while in transit. There was plenty of banditry around, there always had been. Darkspawn were still roaming the country, and travel was dangerous. Was it possible that the lyrium shipments were being destroyed by darkspawn? That could explain both the supply problems and the reassignment of templars. Extra guards needed and so forth.

It made the simplest sort of sense, but something just didn't quite fit. For one, there was no hue and cry by the Chantry which, given the Grand Bitch's habitual delight in complaining about anything she could think of, didn't seem likely. Second, lyrium was compact and dense, a small pinch of dust was all that was needed to make the meanest potion. Godwin's box of lyrium fit in a robe pocket, but would supply him for weeks or months. Why would it take so many templars to guard such small shipments?

I growled in my throat and briefly dipped my head under the water. I didn't have enough information to make a meaningful conclusion.

A sudden thought brought me up short. I'd assumed that the templar reassignments had been in response to the lyrium shortage. If the shortage was manufactured by the Chantry, that made no sense.

What if what I thought was the cause, wasn't the cause. What if it wasn't the lyrium shortage that dictated the templar reassignments, but vice versa?

A horrible yawning sensation built in my belly. If it was the templars who were being moved around, and the lyrium usually earmarked for the Circle was being shorted to cover their addictions...

...then there were a bunch of experienced templars, numbers unknown, location unknown, motivation unknown, and with enough lyrium that they could remain there for an unknown period.

Shit.

That made much more sense.

What was I supposed to do now? I had no proof that the Chantry was up to no good, except for some tenuous deductions and a chip on my shoulder so large it was practically an entire tree. No one with the capability of doing anything would give my suspicions any credence whatsoever. I needed more evidence, or at least a better idea of the missing templars' purpose.

After stewing with those unwelcome thoughts in my bath a while, I noticed that the skin on my fingers was becoming wrinkled. I rose, exited, and ordered Thunder into the tub.

He did everything he could to try and guilt me out of giving him a bath; puppy-dog eyes, pitiful whining, a fake limp, a sudden onset of bone-aching weariness that required immediate sleep, but I was in no mood to be defied. While I was prepared to indulge his aversion to soap in the open air where I could make him stand downwind, here in the poorly ventilated buildings of Orzammar, he was bloody well getting a wash.

Once that monstrous task was complete, I dressed and grabbed a quill and a scroll. I spent an hour or so experimenting with the runes, documenting my discoveries. With that knowledge, I was confident that I could recreate the baths again, which would make Soldier's Peak, not to mention Ferelden in general, a much nicer prospect in winter. Plagiarism complete, I packed up my writing tools and made my way to the compound's communal area for something to eat. I found Aedan there, who sat in deep communion with a sheaf of documents. "Profitable day?" I asked, trying to put some levity in my voice.

He glanced up at me. "Kathryn! Yes, it has been. There's a long way to go of course, but the Aeducan dwarves are so eager to reclaim their Thaig that I'm being offered all sorts of concessions to do business with them exclusively, rather than look around for another syndicate. If Fergus is happy to barter goods and services for metal, we should do quite well."

I grinned at him. "You might want to send a messenger to a dwarf woman named Orta, a deshyr from House Ortan. Ortan Thaig is another one for which we located a probable nearby Deep Roads entrance, and it's in much better shape than Aeducan Thaig. Have a chat with her before you sign anything with Bhelen and Vartag. If nothing else, you might convince them to give you a better deal."

I didn't feel that getting a little petty revenge on Bhelen and Vartag was beneath me, after all.

o_ooo000ooo_o

AN: Thanks to my reviewers - Arsinoe de Blassenville, MB18932, Rhagar, Eucharion, Nightbrainzz and Alifangirl21 - reading your reviews encourages me to write more. Thank you.


	10. On the road again

disclaimer type=standard

Anything you recognise is Bioware's. I daresay anything else belongs to them too.

/disclaimer

o_ooo000ooo_o

Cassandra looked over the elf, considering her words. "What was the extent of your relationship with Teyrn Aedan?"

Kathryn sighed. "I liked him. I liked him a lot. I still do, to tell the truth."

"Oh? You do not have a favourable opinion of the noble classes as a rule, from what you've said so far."

"True," she agreed. "As a rule, nobles tend not to be the sharpest swords in the armoury. When people are taught from birth that they are destined to rule, they don't tend to consider things like, say, ability to lead. It's not just humans either; Branka was a bright smith who invented a useful tool, and got raised to 'living goddess' because of it. She promptly went so far round the bend she could see the back of her own head, and the rest of her new house paid the price.

"But Aedan is very unlike the rest of the Fereldan nobility, with one, or maybe two, notable exceptions. He is a genuinely nice person, noble in both birth and deed, but most of all…" she leaned closer and lowered her gravelly voice, as though imparting a great secret. "Aedan is _competent_."

The Seeker's expression didn't change. "Competent," she repeated flatly. "That's his most desirable attribute?"

Kathryn shrugged, and leaned back again. "In my experience, when it comes to the general population of Thedas, competency is so rare it's practically a divine power."

Cassandra felt that there was nothing she could add to that, mostly since she happened to be in complete agreement. "Does Teyrn Aedan return your feelings? You were in Orzammar for a number of days without a chaperone."

The elf made a face, a grimace of disgust. "No. Between you and me, I did try and get friendly with him the night before I left Orzammar. But he turned me down flat. Politely of course - handsome, rich noblemen are used to women showing interest in them - but he wasn't interested in me."

Cassandra fought back a nasty smile at the thought that this beautiful elf was turned down. Such a reaction was beneath her. "Oh? What happened?"

A shrug. "I was embarrassed for misreading the situation, but he was kind enough to explain why."

"And why was that? From your story, I get the impression that he was just as taken with you."

Kathryn shook her head. "No. Those smiles of his that used to make my heart jump are simply his usual, charming self. I just read too much into them. As I'd grown up in the Circle, I don't really pick up on social cues all that well. Leliana had explained that to me about half a year before, but I didn't really understand at the time. As to why, apparently I resemble his first love quite strikingly, apart from my colouring."

Cassandra frowned slightly. "I assume that was the elf, Iona? Lady Landra's maid?"

Kathryn nodded. "That was she. Her mistress was a friend of Eleanor Cousland, and Iona had been her personal maid for six years or so. They used to visit Castle Cousland several times a year. Aedan was smitten the first time he laid eyes on her, when he was just twelve. He finally managed to summon up the courage to talk to her the evening before Howe's men sacked the Castle, and discovered that she was quite besotted with him too. Iona was one of the casualties."

Cassandra placed a fist against her chin, thinking deeply. If the younger Cousland brother could be contacted, perhaps he could be of use in convincing the Warden to help. She still seemed to hold him in high favour. "When did you see the Teyrn again?"

"A few weeks later at the Landsmeet. We were both elevated, as it were. Alistair named him Teyrn of Gwaren not just because he married Alfstanna for the Crown's stability, but because of his success in negotiating with the dwarves. Having another person respected by the King of Orzammar was very much to Alistair's benefit."

That surprised her. "His negotiations were that successful?"

Kathryn grinned, a wicked gleam in her eye. "Oh yes. Remember, his father had been Ferelden's premier noble ambassador, and he'd given both his sons a very impressive education, which included all aspects of diplomacy and trade negotiations, not just wine tasting. Then, Aedan spent a year on the streets in Denerim, which hardened him up and eroded away all his naivety."

She leaned back and her eyes lost focus, as she stared at a happy memory. "After I mentioned a possible second family to negotiate with, Aedan made some suggestions about how to structure the trade between the families; a tactic to make Bhelen's contingent leave to discuss the possibilities with the King. He then contacted and opened negotiations with Orta of House Ortan. From what he told me, she was excited at the prospect, but as a new deshyr, she was inexperienced in politics and lacked the resources to get such an undertaking moving. She believed that she would be in a position to get the necessary resources in place to retake Ortan Thaig in a couple of years. That didn't stop them hammering out a contract in the mean time, with some very nice inducements for the Couslands to wait until her House was ready."

"So?"

"So, when Bhelen discovered that House Ortan had signed a contract with Aedan, he spat stone, I believe the phrase is. He dismissed his advisors and negotiated with Aedan directly, offering up even more on the condition that he broke the contract he'd just signed. In those talks, Aedan 'mournfully agreed' to suspend dealings with House Ortan for, oh, say two years," the Warden smirked at the Seeker, before finishing, "in return for some very juicy concessions with the Aeducans."

Cassandra swallowed. Perhaps convincing Teyrn Aedan wouldn't be such an easy task. "I see. I had no idea Teyrn Aedan was so skilled a negotiator. So, both your missions to Orzammar were successful."

"Absolutely."

"What happened then?"

o_ooo000ooo_o

Captain Francois was grateful that I was prepared to set out south so soon, at least, from what I could make out from his expression. He was definitely a graduate of the Loghain Mac Tir School Of Non Verbal Communication.

He left half his men and the beefy sergeant at the lawless camp outside the Orzammar gates. They would accompany Aedan back to Highever once he'd finished negotiating with the dwarves. With me on my horse and Thunder at my stirrup (well, at my knee really), we set off through Gherlen's Pass and south down the road on the western edge of Lake Calenhad.

It was a picturesque part of the country, arguably the most picturesque. Beautiful snow-dappled mountains on one side, glittering water on the other with the smell of un-blighted forest scenting the air. We passed the odd group of pilgrims, refugees, travellers or merchant wagon headed north from Redcliffe, making use of the clement weather.

A couple of days out of Orzammar, at a bend in the windy road, the soldiers on point stopped marching and readied their weapons. I immediately dismounted and drew my sword; I barely had the skill to stay on horseback at anything more than a trot. If I tried to fight in the saddle, I'd probably end up stabbing my own horse. Through my own thigh.

A pair of corpses lay around the bend in the road. That in itself was not unusual on the lawless byways of Ferelden, but what did surprise me was the amount of blood staining the muddy road. The pair had obviously put up quite a fight, and had taken more than their fair share out of their attackers before being cut down. Deep ruts in the crimson mud over the top of the chaotic footmarks revealed that a wagon of moderate size had been taken away from the scene. Thunder whined a bit, and nosed around at the edge of the road. He found something, barked a notification, and picked it up in his mouth.

I turned to the Captain. "I think there are some bandits nearby who need seeing to."

He gave me a grave look. "As much as I agree, that is not our job, Warden-Commander. The Bann of this Bannorn can be notified."

I sighed. "I am aware that your orders begin and end with keeping me safe, but I'd like to finish the job these poor souls started. I find the existence of bandits offensive." I squatted down as best as my armour would allow and gingerly touched the bodies. They were stiff. They'd been dead for a few hours at least.

He frowned. "Started?"

"Despite their wounds, the bodies are whole," I pointed out as I stood back up. I gestured over at Thunder. "So whose arm is that?"

One of the younger soldiers turned and retched at the sight of a big war-hound casually holding a severed human arm in his jaws.

Captain Francois sighed. "Very well, Warden-Commander, I will assist you in this matter. I suspect I would not be able to dissuade you any more than I could dissuade Teyrn Fergus. But I would like to state for the record that I am doing this under protest."

"Duly noted," I replied with a nod.

"Corporal! Take a couple of men and erect a pyre for those poor bastards. The rest of you, come with me." He turned back to me. "Can your hound lead us to the criminals?"

Thunder dropped the arm and gave the Captain an offended growl and a deep, "Whuff," of superiority. He turned and trotted off into the sparse trees, towards the west.

Odd, I thought. He wasn't taking us along the wagon tracks. I had assumed that it had been the bandits who'd taken it. Perhaps they merely looted it and some other enterprising soul nicked it.

Nevertheless, we made our way along behind Thunder as he trotted slowly through the undergrowth, occasionally putting his nose up into the air and having a good sniff. A half mile or so later, we began hearing the sounds of men around a camp. The Captain held up a hand for silence, and we all crept forward, our weapons drawn and ready.

There were about a dozen of them, scattered about the clearing where they'd made their camp. No visible guards were posted, making our approach difficult to navigate through unbroken forest, but avoiding detection trivial.

From our vantage point, I examined the camp. Three of the bandits were lying in blood-drenched clothes on pallets on the far side of the clearing. Two of them looked to be recently deceased, judging by messy wounds to their chest and bellies. The last of the trio was trembling, sweaty and missing an arm from the elbow down. He had a crude tourniquet made out of a torn strip of cloth around his bicep. From the congealing pool of blood on the rough blanket under him, it wasn't working.

Four more of bandits were walking wounded, with arms in a makeshift splint, or a dirty bandage around the head or walking with a newly acquired limp. As a profession, banditry didn't exactly call out to the most talented of men, but this lot seemed to be piss-poor specimens even by those already low standards. It seemed that they completely stuffed up and picked a fight with the wrong sort of people. The sort who fight back. Still, two fighters killing or marking seven bandits was an impressive ratio.

Captain Francois appeared next to me, also scanning the camp for threats. He gestured towards the only bandit with a crossbow, and pointed to Thunder. I shook my head, pointed at the bandit, and then wiggled my fingers. He deigned to look abashed, and nodded once.

The man who had, presumably, left his arm back on the road for Thunder to play with suddenly started convulsing, and began screaming. The bandits began complaining at the noise, calling for someone do something about it. One fellow with a dirty bandage around his head and a bottle in his hand stomped over to the wounded. He upended the contents over the screaming man's stump, which caused another agonised shriek. The armless bandit grabbed at his stump with his free hand, completely opening the artery once more. The one whose attempts at medical care left quite a bit to be desired crouched down before jamming the neck of his bottle into the wounded man's mouth, giving him a chance to either drink or drown.

He didn't seem keen to do either. After a few seconds struggle, the bandit with the bottle gave up, swore, pulled a knife, and silenced the wounded man permanently.

A shudder ran up my spine at the blatant murder. It occurred to me that I probably would have been obliged to make such a decision more than once on my adventures around Ferelden had it not been for Wynne and her skills. I lined up the bowman, gave Captain Francois a signal, and froze the bandit on the spot.

It took a few seconds for any of the other bandits to notice that they were under attack, and by then it was far too late.

The battle was short, and definitely not sweet. The bandits' armour was barely worth wearing, and their martial skills were somewhat lacking, though a couple of them had some incongruously high-quality swords. They had no defences against magic, had set no traps, snares or defensive structures around the camp, and had no escape. A fact evidenced by Thunder as he brought down the only bandit among them bright enough to try and leg it.

One of my soldiers got a cut on his shoulder, and that was the only wound we sustained in the assault. He appeared quite embarrassed about being the only one hurt, and got some friendly ribbing from his fellows. I healed the wound wordlessly and set about examining the camp while he proudly examined his new scar.

The bandits had been eking out a meagre existence, subsisting mainly on the lean game in the area. Examining the crude sanitation measures, I guessed that they'd been in the camp for less than a week. There was little in the way of supplies, and an astoundingly pitiful amount of coin. Indeed, had the dozen men worked on the docks of Highever or Denerim for the week, they'd have easily matched their takings; in all probability they'd have exceeded it. So, they were stupid, wanted or desperate. Those were the only reasons I could think of that would inspire a man to take up such a dangerous, yet unrewarding career.

There was a brief argument among the soldiers. I glanced over to see the Captain telling one of his men off for looting. It was odd, I hadn't seen anything here worth taking, and I'd been looking. I rose and cleared my throat. "What did you find?"

Captain Francois ignored me as he shouted at the man. "We are soldiers of Ferelden. We do not loot the dead!" he said heatedly.

I snorted. "Exactly! At least, not while officers or nobles are watching, isn't that right?"

"Warden-Commander?" he gasped, sounding horrified at the idea. The soldier glanced at me gratefully, but ducked his head.

I sighed. I'd been around enough soldiers in the past year to know that a great deal of less-than-honourable behaviour went on away from the gaze of interested eyes. "Captain, I fed and equipped a group of eight people, one golem and a dog for months with what I could scavenge from people who tried to kill me. These bandits don't deserve the decency reserved for honourably defeated foes. What did you find, soldier?"

He glanced between the Captain, and me but held out a silver pendant. I recognised instantly, even with the briefest glance. With wide eyes I said, "Did anyone else find one?" I demanded of the soldiers. "I will give you a sovereign for each one you find."

My generosity spurred the men into action, even under the disapproving gaze of the Captain. I pulled out a gold coin and handed it to the soldier, who gratefully exchanged it for the small pendant.

Another soldier shouted with glee. He too stepped up and handed over another identical pendant, with an apologetic shrug to the Captain. I paid him as well.

Captain Francois ground out, through clenched teeth, "I would thank you for not undermining my authority, Warden-Commander."

I nodded. In a low voice, I said, "I'm sorry, Captain. But this is important. I need to know how many of these pendants are in the camp. And having your men hide any from me for fear of upsetting you would be counter productive."

He narrowed his eyes, but nodded. "I see. What are they? What is so important?"

I hesitated. "How devout are you, Captain?"

He looked confused at my question. "I honour the Maker and his bride. I might not get to the Chantry as often as I should, but I hope to stand by the Maker's side when my time comes."

I nodded, pleased that he wasn't a fanatic. It meant that I could discuss possibilities with him. I held up the pair of silver pendants and gave them a shake. "These are given to templars when they first take their vows. They wear them constantly, and on their death, they are returned to the Chantry."

His eyes widened. "Templars?" He looked around the camp at the dead bandits. "Them? No!"

I looked around too, but at the soldiers rather than the bodies. "No. I don't think so. Templars are well trained to defend themselves, especially in comparison to these pitiful wretches. Your men don't seem to have found any more pendants, so I'm inclined to think that they were just random loot. I'm hoping so, at any rate."

"I should say so! A templar would never resort to banditry!" he hissed at my in a low voice.

I nodded carefully, to hide my opinions on the matter. "It is highly unlikely, I agree. It would be more likely that..." I stopped, looking around for a wagon.

There were a couple of decrepit wagons over on the edge of the camp; one of them - the one with red-tinged mud spattered on the wheels - still had a few crates on it. I trotted over to it, jumped aboard and rummaged around. The boxes were all sitting open, and mostly contained clothing and camping equipment. One crate even had some cooking pots and plates. The ones that contained food had already been unloaded and emptied. It was similar in design to the one I'd driven from Denerim to Highever. Having not seen an ox in camp, I jumped down and walked around to the front of the wagon. I pushed the driver's seat up to look in the spot reserved for feed.

I slammed it shut.

"Shit."

"Warden-Commander? What is it?"

I sighed, but raised the seat again and looked down gloomily into the contents of the feed box.

A well oiled set of tools. A small sack of nails. A few rope coils of various thicknesses. Several pieces of prepared timber, cut to size as replacement pieces of the wheels on the wagon. A pair of bulging money-pouches. An open crate packed with potion vials, about three-quarters of them full of blue liquid. And two sets of neatly packed templar armour.

The Captain looked over my shoulder and nodded. "Ah. So the poor souls on the road were templars. That explains the pendants."

I nodded slowly. "It explains quite a lot. Their martial skills. The casualties taken by the bandits. And yes, it explains the pendants and the two high-quality swords among the dross the bandits were carrying." I didn't mention the questions it raised. Like why the templars were travelling incognito. And why they had all the camping equipment and tools necessary to repair the wagon. They were set for a long, long trip.

He pointed at the open crate. "What are those blue concoctions?"

"Lyrium," I replied absently. Well, he wouldn't know about the templar need for it.

He looked at me. "That's the stuff that you use, isn't it? For your magic?"

"Something like that," I said softly, still running thoughts through my head and not at all interested in a lengthy exposition of the relationship between magic, mana and lyrium.

"Why would templars have so much?" he asked, genuinely curious. "Were they transporting it to the Circle, do you think?"

I shrugged, figuring that I really shouldn't let his speculation go too far. My life was going to be interesting enough without me spreading rumours about the evils of lyrium addiction in highly trained, well-armed fanatics housed in every village in the country. "I doubt it. They probably confiscated it from some apostates," I lied. "We should take it to the Chantry at Redcliffe," I finished to forestall any further complaints. "The armour and lyrium will fit in our supply wagon, yes? We don't have a spare ox to hitch this wagon to."

He nodded. "Easily, but then, this wagon is not set up to be drawn by an animal. See here? This crossbar? Those two templars were pushing the wagon themselves."

Ugh. A long journey was bad enough when you had to walk. Pulling a heavy wagon along would be awful. "Well, I'm not going to push my luck with your men and ask them to push the wagon," I said with a smile. I reached in and pocketed the pair of money-pouches, before grabbing the crate of azure vials. "Could you get some of your men to grab the armour? We can leave the tools, but I'll take the lyrium. It does funny things to a non-mage if you breathe it in or get it on your skin."

"Funny?" he asked tentatively, leaning back and suddenly happy to put a bit of distance between himself and the lyrium.

I shrugged. "Funny - as in _entertaining_. But only from a bystander's point of view."

* * *

><p>It took us almost an hour to scour the rest of the bandit camp for usable goods and make our way back to the road. A plume of black, oily smoke meant that we had no chance of losing our way. The pyre burning the pair of templars crackled nicely in the still, late-morning air.<p>

I discretely dipped into the newly acquired money-pouches to give each of the soldiers a half-sovereign, a bonus for the little side trip. I didn't want there to be any ill will aimed at the pair who'd been lucky enough to locate a templar pendant. I knew all about keeping your followers happy. We were soon on the move once again.

That night at camp, Captain Francois wandered over to where I'd set up my tent and fire. I sat before my fire with my back against a log. Thunder was spread out in front of me lying on his back. I had buried my bare feet in the fur on his belly, kneading with my toes. It was entertaining to see just how much control I had over his rear leg. If I rubbed my feet one way, I got a lolling tongue and a canine expression of bliss. If I wriggled my toes in a slightly different way, I could get his leg kicking up and down so fast it was almost vibrating. Thunder seemed to find the whole exercise very satisfactory, if his soft grunts and yips of joy were any indication.

"Er, Warden-Commander? May I ask you a question?"

I nodded, looking up at the man.

He looked uncomfortable. "Are all mages capable of casting the spells you use? Freezing that bandit, and blasting those others senseless? Healing those wounds?"

I cleared my throat, wondering if I should have included him in the discussion of magic with Fergus. They seemed to have similar thoughts and concerns. Fortunately, that had given me some practise in reassuring others. "Most mages aren't as powerful as I am, and we do have individual specialities. I don't really have a talent for healing."

He blinked. "I find that hard to believe. You've healed every wound my men have suffered."

I shrugged. "They've still got scars, and the underlying tissue will still take a while to knit back together properly." He looked at me in disbelief. I chuckled and continued, "Wynne, the elderly witch who travelled with me during the Blight, is an unparalleled healer. She could heal those injuries so well you'd not know you were ever hurt. My field healing is pretty rudimentary in comparison. Why? What brings this on?"

He cleared his throat. "Er, well, I was speaking with my sergeant back at Orzammar, and my corporal on the way down here. When we left Denerim, the men were a bit wary at the idea of having to travel with a mage. But after a few weeks with you, well, they want to know if all mages can do the things you do." He waved his hands in a placating manner. "Not in a nervous way, you understand. It's just that they're quite keen on the idea of having a mage as a comrade now. I know His Majesty is inviting apostates to join the army, and the men are looking forward to it, surprisingly. A lot of people thought it a fool's notion to start with."

I raised an eyebrow. "And?"

He took a deep breath. "I've been a soldier for nearly fifteen years. And I'm honest enough to say that if it hadn't been for your magic, most of my men wouldn't have made it through that first battle with the darkspawn outside of Denerim. The men know it too. When we get back to the capital, I'm going to petition to have a couple of mages put under my command." He coughed, and lowered his voice, as though his superior officers in Denerim could hear his mutinous words from the other side of the country. "I'll be delighted with just one, you understand, but it never hurts to ask for more than you need."

I smiled and nodded in agreement. "Absolutely."

"Of course, the men would probably desert en masse if they were given orders to _attack _a mage, no offence meant. Respect goes both ways, you see."

I shook my head with a laugh. "None taken. And there are some skills and tactics that can help fight mages. If you interrupt their spell casting, most mages are just scrawny bookworms wearing no armour and holding a big stick. Archers are very good for that. And templars can drain the magic out of an area, and even a specific mage, leaving them pretty helpless. We have our strengths and weaknesses, but as part of a balanced group, we're invaluable."

Captain Francois nodded. "It strikes me that if the standing army in Ferelden did have a mage or two in every squad, then our job would suddenly become a lot easier."

I gave a soft chuckle. "Loghain said much the same thing, on more than one occasion."

He seemed a bit chipper after our talk. I suppose being compared favourably to Ferelden's greatest General in living memory would put a spring in the step of any career officer.

I was quite a bit chipper myself. Slowly but surely, mages were becoming more accepted.

* * *

><p>We continued south. Now that I knew what to look for, I was able to spot a number of wagons being pushed by a pair of hearty travellers on the road. Most travellers poor enough to have to push their own cart were scrawny from short rations. But the incognito templars were all lean and muscular, with well-defined forearms. Zevran would have laughed at their efforts.<p>

Our squad's corporal had asked at one point whether we should pass on our extra cargo onto one of them, but I had responded negatively. I pointed out that if they were trying to hide being templars, carrying around more embossed armour wouldn't really help. He agreed, but seemed troubled by the idea that templars had a need to hide their identity.

The next day, we rounded the western tip of Lake Calenhad. The Captain ordered a temporary camp set up for a few days. Most of the soldiers set about sharpening stakes and whatnot, all the defences paranoid officers thought necessary. Using the maps Alistair had provided, I took Thunder and a handful of soldiers and scouted around for the supposed entrance to the Deep Roads.

The Royal cartographers had scoured dozens of reports of darkspawn locations, and made some educated guesses. As it turned out, the guesses weren't necessary.

It was painfully obvious where the darkspawn had emerged.

A rocky outcrop on the side of a gentle hill looked to have exploded outwards. The darkspawn had marched straight over everything once they had disgorged onto the surface. Grass, crops, plants and trees were all trampled, pushed over and crushed under the feet of thousands of unholy, diseased monsters. There was one enormous cavern where the majority of the blighted bastards emerged, though within eyeshot there were about half a dozen smaller scars on the landscape. No wonder no one had returned to the nearby farmland. It looked as though the entire area had been stripped bare. It would be years before animals could graze here again.

Well, with the plans afoot, perhaps this would be a mercantile area, rather than a place for agriculture.

I left a couple of the soldiers at the entrance and scouted a few hundred yards into the main tunnel. It was irregular, as you'd expect from underground paths excavated by darkspawn, but large enough for ogres to traverse so long as they didn't mind ducking their heads on occasion. I got no sense of nearby darkspawn, though Thunder's ears did prick up at the sound of scurrying vermin in the side tunnels.

After a few hours of tedious exploration, the tunnel suddenly joined onto the dwarvern-made Deep Roads. Describing the underground highways as 'made' seemed almost disrespectful to me. Dwarvern-_engineered _sounded better, but just didn't encapsulate the sheer artistry and genius that had gone into their creation. The amount of time invested into such an undertaking spanning the length and breadth of Thedas was truly awe-inspiring.

The trio of soldiers at my back made murmurs of appreciation at the sight, and loosened up even more once the road opened onto a Thaig.

I recognised it as the Aeducan Thaig even though we'd entered from a different direction; the half-crushed-by-rock-fall look was quite distinctive. The last time I'd been here, I'd arrived in time to assist Lord Dace beat off a brace of deep stalkers (which we discovered to be quite tasty, and we'd eaten well for the first time in days). It was not much different coming from the new direction - half the Thaig was buried under rock falls - but there were a few broken chests on this side. The dwarves would need to expend quite some effort to get the place habitable again, but with a supply dump a mile or so away through some very defensible tunnels, that would simply be a matter of time.

I made some more detailed additions to the maps as we left, feeling my mood soar at the success of the scouting mission. With the Thaig no more than half an hour's march from a defensible spot on the surface, this area would become a booming trading centre quite soon. I began making plans for the Grey Wardens, and how the order could benefit from establishing a presence here too.

* * *

><p>A few more days of travelling south saw us at the seat of power in Eamon's arling.<p>

Redcliffe was looking quite a bit better than the last time I'd seen it. There were a couple of ships moored at the piers, and plenty of cargo being offloaded. Entire streets of houses had been torn down and in the process of being rebuilt, leaving the roads straighter and wider. It meant fewer dwellings for a smaller population, but it made travel much easier through the town.

As Eamon was based in Denerim these days, Isolde was nominally in charge of the arling. However, with news that the doors to the Circle were now open, she'd apparently jumped in a carriage and raced to see her son. True to form, she had once again left the town to fend for itself while she indulged her own desires. She would have undoubtedly welcomed me with nothing but withering scorn had she been at the castle, so that was all to the good. I had no desire to listen to the shrill harpy ever again.

Revered Mother Hannah greeted me cordially, with little real warmth. She excused herself quickly, claiming that she needed to organise an aid shipment to the Lothering Chantry, which was in the process of being reestablished. She gratefully accepted the templar armour and the silver pendants of the slain pair we discovered. She seemed somewhat surprised at also being given the crate of lyrium and the money-pouches. Only someone who had carried them from the bandit camp to our supply wagon would have been able to tell just how noticeably lighter they were.

The Ferelden Wardens still hadn't received their backdated tithes, after all. I was just… helping out.

I noticed that the templars assigned to the Redcliffe Chantry were few in number and either very young or close to retirement. The grizzled chap nominally in charge of the holy warriors was only months off being shipped to the Val Royeaux sanitarium, in my opinion. His hands trembled uncontrollably, and he quite often barked orders to people who weren't there.

The inhospitable treatment I got from the Chantry was more than offset by my reception from the villagers. People shouted my name and waved wherever I walked. Lloyd was quite happy to put me (and my escort) up in the tavern, even on the lean budget Captain Francois had to billet his men. He ran the inn by himself; apparently Bella had just up and left one day. Rumour was that she had hooked up with a widower travelling back to reopen his family's inn, having left it to flee the darkspawn horde. Lloyd still looked put out, but just about every local believed it was his fault, what with his poor treatment of her. Still, the beefy man was a much more cordial host, and the townsfolk were still appreciative of his efforts on that fateful night.

We stayed in Redcliffe for two days, time enough for Owen the blacksmith to repair the accumulated dings and pits in my escorts' armour and weapons. Then, once again, we left what passed for civilisation, and headed east.

* * *

><p>Lothering was still a blighted, burned-out mess. Not one of the original buildings was standing, with the exception of the occasional stone wall. The army had been through here and set everything even remotely tainted alight, a tactic to enable eventual safe resettling. Even weeks afterwards, the air still held the scent of charred wood, soot and some other smells that were, quite thankfully, unidentifiable.<p>

Even with the deliberate arson leaving the town almost uninhabitable, there were a few dozen hardy folk around. They were mostly living in tents or temporary shelters attached to the more stable, freestanding stone walls. One enterprising pair had set up a crude tavern, with barrels acting as both ale storage and a short bar counter. I suspected that the beer was on the green side - since it appeared they brewed it on site.

A single woman wearing a ragged priest's robes was ministering to a pair of praying settlers. We didn't bother her, and simply rode on past.

There was a squad of soldiers on the outskirts of town with Southern Bannorn heraldry on their kit. They watched us warily, making no move to welcome or challenge. The lord of those lands, Bann Ceorlic, wasn't a particularly popular man in Denerim these days. His father, Ceorlic Senior, had been an Orlesian bootlicker during the occupation, and his men had participated in the assassination of Maric's mother, the Rebel Queen. Junior had only inherited his dad's holdings on very shaky grounds, and thus should probably have dedicated his life to supporting Maric and Cailan. Despite this, he had thrown his lot in with Loghain; infamously being the only outspoken ally of the Teyrn of Gwaren in that last fateful Landsmeet. In doing so, he followed in his father's tradition as being party to a regicide.

Backing the losing side in a civil conflict didn't often lead to longevity in a noble. Picking the wrong side twice in two generations could only be described as catastrophic. Doubly so when the chosen side had indulged in a little light killing of the rightful monarch. From what rumours I'd heard, he was relying on his current wealth and strong Chantry allies, and the excuse that Loghain was, well, _Loghain_.

As compelling as that argument was, Ceorlic was going to be lucky to keep his head, let alone his lands. His religious friends probably wouldn't stand with him when push came to shove. After all, the Chantry had good form in abandoning those out of favour. But rats backed into a corner tend to be unpredictable. Being so closely aligned with Alistair, I would be useful to Ceorlic only as either his friend or a corpse; of which neither suited. I was not about to linger here.

I led my horse and soldiers up the stone stairs at the edge of town onto the Imperial Highway, and then continued south.

* * *

><p>Blighted land became more common as we moved south into the Korcari Wilds. The army had burned the fields near Lothering, but the further away we got, the blacker the scenery. There were animals about, birds and small game, mostly. Insects thrummed in the air, rising like clouds of dark, rolling mist from stagnant pools when disturbed. While it was magically tiring, I cast and maintained a spell enchanting each of my soldiers' weapons with elemental cold. The frigid air around the swords, bows and maces effectively kept the masses of insects at bay. That earned me quite some good will, and extra portions at camp.<p>

One unexpected benefit of the blackened earth was the ease at which I located the flowers I searched for. Even in their natural form they had some blight resistance, and the glorious white and crimson petals stood out amongst the blackened dead flora vividly. Over the course of a few days, I gathered and pressed many dozen samples into a book, to the bemusement of my guards.

We found a likely campsite and Captain Francois gave his corporal orders to prepare the camp. As the soldiers competently fell to their assigned tasks, I gathered some equipment and scouted around, looking for sturdy samples that had a strong chance to survive transportation to Denerim and Soldier's Peak. Thunder padded along at my side, happy just to be with his chosen master.

At the edge of a stained, stagnant pool, I found a sample that appeared suited to my purposes. I dropped my bag and pulled out a trowel and a small clay pot. With as much care as I had, I eased the sodden earth around the plant out of the ground and pushed it into the pot. With a bit of luck, and a great deal of water, it would live. I wandered around the area, looking for more.

As dusk fell, Thunder gave a soft growl of warning. Pretending to be engrossed in a minute examination of the flower in front of me, I stretched out my senses, listening hard and looking out of the corner of my eye.

Several armoured men approached from one side, marching in step along an animal trail between the sparse trees, apparently oblivious to my presence. But even in the dim twilight, glints and glimmers off polished armour drew the eye. The man on point barked a warning and gestured in my direction.

My elvish eyes picked out details a human would miss in this light.

The men were wearing templar armour.

o_ooo000ooo_o

AN: Thanks to my reviewers - MB18932, Nightbrainzz, Arsinoe de Blassenville, Isabeau of Greenlea, Alifangirl21, Rhagar and TheDawgg - I can't get enough of them.

We're nearly at Awakenings. As close as I'm keeping this fic to canon, there will be some differences in the way some of the side quests are completed. So, it will be a quick run through rather than a retelling. Then, we're off into fanon again, touching on the events of DA2.


	11. An unwanted escort

disclaimer type=standard

Anything you recognise is Bioware's. I daresay anything else belongs to them too.

/disclaimer

o_ooo000ooo_o

Cassandra strode over to the narrow window and looked out over the smoky haze. The scene was difficult to take in, given the limited aperture. "I take it you did not react well to their arrival?" she asked, more to fill the pause in the retelling than for any other reason.

Kathryn spread her hands. "Ha! You'd have thought so. Greagoir had been quite adamant that he would make sure I was a wanted woman. So, as you could imagine, I was a little cautious about being around a sizeable group of templars." The Warden paused, and a look of mischief suddenly crossed her face, which Cassandra completely missed. "And Conchobar, the nominal leader of the group, had been given some more off-the-record instructions. Instructions not passed on to the rest."

The Seeker frowned, her back still turned. That name was very familiar. It was linked to another mystery, one in which Cassandra had a personal interest. She crossed her arms and turned around to face the mage. "Instructions regarding your arrest, I take it?"

"No," the mage retorted, with definite heat. "Instructions regarding my murder."

Cassandra suppressed a shiver. It was not the first time that such an evil path had been suggested in the course of performing the Maker's work, but to hear it announced so casually was chilling. "Murder? Are you sure?"

"Oh yes. Conchobar was quite forthcoming about it." She gave that some thought. "Afterwards, of course. Not at the time, obviously."

A single icy tendril of worried thought wormed into Cassandra's mind. Conchobar was definitely not a common name, even in Ferelden, and few, perhaps only a handful of templars from Ferelden and the Free Marches bore it. There was nothing to suggest that the Conchobar in Kathryn's narrative was the Knight-Commander Conchobar who infamously disappeared from the Nevarran Mage Circle many years before. Yet, there was something - some tiny detail - that made her wonder. "You- you spoke to him? Afterwards?"

Something on the elf's expression changed. Some shadow perhaps, or maybe the set of her shoulders. But suddenly, the elf's smile looked... malicious. "Yes, as a matter of fact. It was during his second attempt on my life, you see, and like all idiotic evil-doers, he wanted to make sure I knew about his plans. I don't imagine he's forgiven me for foiling them," she said, with obvious understatement. "If I ever talk to him again, I'll ask him," she added, watching the Seeker like a hawk for any reaction.

Cassandra stared at the Warden. Did she know that Conchobar was missing? Was it possible? Did this mage have a connection to the Night of the Vanished? It was unlikely, but the expression on the elf's face was disturbing. Very, very disturbing.

It had been six - no, seven years since that terrible night. Details were still vague, despite three separate investigations by experienced Chantry Seekers, but the known facts were simple. On the night of the thirteenth of Harvestmere in 9:33, thirteen templars vanished without a trace. It had been weeks before the full impact of the disappearances became known, as the templars had vanished from monasteries, Mage Circles and Chantries from all over Thedas.

Two disappeared from Ferelden, one from Kinloch Hold, the other from the Gwaren Chantry. Four vanished from Orlais, including two from the Grand Cathedral itself. Three of the other Vanished were stationed around the Free Marches, two others from Navarra and one apiece in Antiva and Rivain.

Had they been initiates or even junior inductees, the incident may even have passed from notice all together. Young men were weak, Cassandra knew all too well, and it was not unknown for some young initiates to decide to abandon their vows – whether for what they thought was love, or to taste forbidden pleasures. It was not so unusual that it would cause much comment.

But the Vanished were all high-ranking, powerful men. Three Knight-Captains, eight Knight-Commanders and, most terrifyingly, a pair of Knight-Divines, two members of the elite group that made up the leadership of the Templar Order. To a man, they were templars who had been singularly forthright in their duty. Each of them had multiple personal commendations from their superiors, including some from the Divine Beatrice herself.

Cassandra had even met Knight-Commander Conchobar once, during her very first investigation as a Seeker. A clandestine coven of blood mages had been uncovered in he Nevarran Circle of Magi, and she had been sent to determine how it had developed and remained undetected for so long. The imposing man's most salient physical feature had been a milky-white eye coupled with an angry scar across his face. But his most defining characteristics, from Cassandra's perspective, had been his blatant misogyny and deep-seated distrust, bordering on malice, for anyone with magical talent.

Initially, searches for the Vanished templars had been carried out and found nothing. Reports had been written and dispatched, of course, but the sudden power vacuum meant that many of the disappearances were disclosed to the Chantry hierarchy in a panicked, unprofessional manner by inexperienced underlings – often leaving pertinent details omitted. When the full reports of the disappearances finally filtered back to Val Royeaux, alarm built slowly, before exploding in one single afternoon, when a dutiful scholar happened to note in passing that all of the Vanished had disappeared on the same night as the two Knight-Divines.

Conspiracy theories abounded, and the highest-ranking Mothers and Grand Clerics were all called to account for those under their purview. Factions within the Chantry accused one another of various, nefarious schemes. Rumours spread, though details were sparse.

As much as practicable, the chaos was hidden from the rest of the world; the death of Beatrice the following year had managed to cover the trouble with perverse effectiveness. The populous inevitably believed that _something _had happened, yet had to invent fantastic scenarios to explain their ignorance. Now, many years later, the thirteenth day of the month was considered extremely unlucky by the superstitious if it fell on the day before the holy day of rest.

The highest-ranking Seekers at the time had been assembled, which at the time had not included the inexperienced Cassandra Pentaghast. But the delay in recognizing the significance of the concurrent disappearances had made things difficult. Eyewitness accounts were thin on the ground in any case, as it had been an uneventful night, apart from the obvious unexplained and unexplainable disappearance of holy warriors. By the time those of the Silver Eye had visited the scene of each disappearance memories were vague at best. To make things worse, many of those interviewed invented incredible stories that frustrated the Seekers trying to establish the truth.

Despite years of examination, there appeared to be nothing that linked the Vanished at all, besides their duly recognised dedication to the Maker. There appeared to be no personal correspondence between them, no friendships, and no history. Nothing.

"Is something wrong, Cassandra?" the Warden asked, a wide smirk on her face and her gravel voice filled with false concern.

Cassandra shook her head. "No, I was... reminded of something. I has no bearing on your story."

"Are you sure? Perhaps you could tell me exactly what it was that reminded you?" she said in a clear, mocking tones.

Suspicion bubbled in her belly. Did the Warden have knowledge about the Night of the Vanished? _Could_ she have knowledge? How to check? By Divine edict, it was never mentioned to those outside of the Chantry, and not to be investigated except by the individuals Divinely appointed to do so.

Not that the Chantry was in any position to dictate adherence its edicts, as things stood. With the Mage-Templar war sapping its resources and its close allies decimated by the very mage she was interviewing, the Chantry's influence was at historic lows.

"No. It is not important. I would hear more of this Conchobar's orders to murder you."

Kathryn shrugged. "As you wish. The cow-in-chief in Denerim had learned of my missions, and sent details about my whereabouts out to all the templars. Both those still in the Chantries, and the ones who'd been _reassigned_. As I was quite the celebrity, the orders were that if I was encountered without witnesses, I was to be arrested and returned to Denerim." She snarled at the Seeker. "Extra orders were given to templars who were more inclined to follow the whole mages-should-be-exterminated line. I was to have an accident on the way back to Denerim. Preferably a painful, humiliating and horrifying accident, yet one that enabled the priests to plausibly deny any involvement. The Chantry, that bastion of peace, love, faith and good will towards fellow man, wanted me dead but was too cowardly to do it in the open."

Cassandra sighed deeply and rubbed her temples with her fingertips. Kathryn Surana, a tiny elf mage, stomped across the world like a titan of mythology, shaking the foundations of establishment. To those who hated and feared change, she was an anathema. Something that needed to be destroyed.

So many Mothers and Grand Clerics believed that as they had power, they therefore had wisdom. It still astounded the Seeker that some high-ranking priests and templars, who had often never faced much more than pointed stares over dinner, political maneuverings in committees and harsh words from superiors, felt that they could take on someone who had physically cut, bashed, burned, froze and slaughtered her way through thousands of darkspawn during a Maker-cursed Blight.

The fact that they were not a match for her simply did not register. They threw everything they had into stopping her, only to fail time and time again. And when those failures weakened the establishment further, it was the mage that was blamed, rather than the idiots who launched the unwise action.

Cassandra was not one to ever give up. But so far in the story there had been precious little for her to work with to convince the Warden to help the Chantry win the war. Perhaps her best bet would be to convince the Warden to help end the _fighting_, rather than pick a side in the war. That would benefit the Chantry in the short term.

"Such orders are simply unjustifiable," the Seeker said in a conciliatory tone. "They were wrong. But they were obviously not carried out."

"Not for a lack of trying," the elf replied darkly.

o_ooo000ooo_o

Now that I had been spotted, the templars all marched closer, but kept their weapons sheathed. I counted fourteen of them. There was no hesitation, but no aggression either. I suppose wearing armour and carrying a sword did not shout 'mage' as wearing robes and carrying a staff did.

The leader pulled off his bucket helmet, revealing a plain face framed with blond hair and a thick, full beard. "Greetings, ser knight. I am Knight-Captain Conchobar of the Denerim Chantry."

Under my hand, I could feel Thunder's hackles rise. "Well met," I said evenly, without warmth.

One of the other templars started slightly at my voice, audibly drawing in a surprised breath. The one called Conchobar narrowed his eyes and continued, "May I know your name, ser knight?"

"Why?" I challenged, flicking my gaze over the group. These weren't initiates. This wouldn't be like the Circle.

Conchobar reddened, his expression disapproving. But the other templar who expressed shock took off his helmet too and said, "Warden? Excuse me, Warden-Commander? Is that you?"

I blinked at the familiar voice, and I'm sure my face lit up like a sunrise when I recognised the speaker. Tanned face framed by dark hair creased from sitting under a helm for too long. "Bryant! You're alive! I thought you lost when the darkspawn overran Lothering." Even Thunder stood a bit straighter and whuffed a greeting.

Ser Bryant, one of the few templars I'd ever respected, smiled at me with evident honesty. "By the Maker's will, I am. I was in the last group out." He turned to his fellows. "Be respectful! Remove your helms!"

The remaining templars complied, though the leader didn't seem happy with that.

I pulled my helmet off too, which caused some murmurings among the templars. "Did you cut it that fine out of some sense of mischief, daring or something less exciting?" I asked with a smile.

"Duty," he sighed. "Prosaic, true, but necessary. Some families refused to leave without all their members accounted for. I convinced some to move on in time, but I failed to convince all. It was difficult to leave them, but unfortunately I did not have the resources to force so many to move without stripping those who did of their protection."

I shook my head in sympathy. "Stupidity kills more people than darkspawn. I am very glad to see you alive."

He nodded his head. "Likewise. I hoped that on my reassignment to Denerim that I would have the opportunity to meet with you again, but it was not to be." He looked down at Thunder, his expression suddenly puzzled. "What happened to the hound you had with you in Lothering?"

"This is Thunder," I replied, patting the aforesaid hound. "He's grown a little since you last saw him."

"A little! He's the size of a horse!"

Thunder looked up at me and lolled his tongue with doggy laughter. "A pony, perhaps," I said with a smile. Thunder tilted his head and gave that a whine of disagreement.

Conchobar looked as though he was about to explode. "Ser Bryant! We are not here to socialise."

Bryant nodded in supplication. "Yes, Ser Conchobar. My apologies."

I raised an eyebrow and faced the leader. "Then what are you here for, hmm? What business do fourteen templars have down here in the Wilds?" Was this a clue to the mystery I'd been pondering? Were the templars, as a group, gathering in the south of the Kingdom?

My question caused some shuffling of feet. Conchobar raised his chin. "We are tasked with arresting a dangerous apostate reported to be in the area," he said with a gleam in his eye and an ugly grin.

Ah, you're after me. Bugger. "An apostate? Here in the Wilds?" I said with no surprise.

"Indeed," Conchobar almost purred. "You are a mage, are you not?" he said with anticipation. "And outside of the Circle too..."

"Ser Conchobar!" Bryant interrupted. "This is Kathryn Surana, Commander of the Grey in Ferelden. She is not an apostate!"

Staring into Conchobar's eyes, I had an epiphany. The orders were to arrest an apostate, yes, but Conchobar alone had been given my identity. Well, there was one way to play this. "Indeed, I am no apostate. I was just surprised, that's all. I only know of one apostate who lives in these Wilds. Her hut is quite a ways from here."

Several of the templars expressed surprise at this, including Bryant. Conchobar merely looked amused. "Oh, really? Why have you not then reported the location of this supposed apostate to the Chantry?"

I shrugged. "I assumed the King had done so. He was with me when I was last at the apostate's hut."

That little tidbit caused Conchobar's smile to lose some of its bite. "The King?" he said.

I nodded happily. "Yep. You know, the tall chap who wears the crown?" I deliberately misinterpreted their shocked looks as incomprehension. "No? Really? Blonde fellow. Big shoulders. Likes cheese. Thinks he's funny. Goes by Alistair. Surely this rings a bell." I pointed to Bryant. "Bryant here has met him."

"I am hardly on such familiar terms, Warden-Commander," Bryant responded with a smile once he found his voice.

"True, though he'll be chuffed to learn that you're alive. We spoke of you a couple of months ago."

He blinked. "You... spoke of me? With the _King_?" he asked, astounded.

"Of course," I replied, grinning at both the expression on his face and the effect our conversation was having on Conchobar. I put on an expression of reminiscence. "One always remembers the first time one discovers that one is an accused regicide. Good times."

He smiled back at me and shook his head. "You are still completely irreverent, aren't you?"

"Oh, you say the nicest things."

"Enough!" barked Conchobar, who then took an unconscious step back at Thunder's sudden growl. In a rather more subdued tone, he berated his companion. "Ser Bryant, remember your place. And you, mage, do you have a chit from the Knight-Commander allowing you outside the Circle's walls?" he demanded, his eyes on my mabari.

I rolled my eyes. "No, and I don't need one. The Grey Wardens have existed since the First Blight, more than two hundred years before Andraste marched on the Imperium. The Emperor Kordillus Drakon and Justinia the First ratified the treaty of Silent Plains, more than nine hundred years ago. So unless you have the authority to disregard the long-recognised word of both the person who created the Chantry _and _the First Divine, you can stick your demand up your bottom. Now, do any of you have a map of the area?"

Conchobar's eyes bulged in rage, and the rest looked absolutely shocked. But not one of them said anything. They were all stunned into silence. Perhaps I'd over played my hand, but while they could not believe events, I would be able to exert some control.

"Well? Does anyone have a map? Any of you?" I repeated, putting my hands on my hips. "Surely you haven't come into the Wilds without one?"

One of the templars coughed. "Uh, yes, Warden-Commander." After a few moments of uncomfortable silence and no disagreement from the leader, he stepped forward. "Here," he said cautiously, withdrawing a rolled scroll from a metal tube.

I carefully unrolled the map. Loghain would have scoffed at the quality, but it was good enough for my purposes. "Right, you see the ruins of Ostagar here?" My question caused a ripple of nervousness amongst the templars. "Oh for the love of Andraste! The darkspawn are gone! It's just an empty ruin now. Look, here," I snapped, jabbing my finger to the map. "Just off in this direction a mile or so are the remains of a Grey Warden watchtower, near some other Avvar ruins. About here," I said indicating a rough area on the map.

"Yes, Warden, I have seen them," the templar said politely. The others, Bryant included, still couldn't believe what was happening.

I continued in a brisk, no-nonsense manner. "Right, just off behind those ruins is a wall of thick vegetation, but through that there is an animal path leading away to the south and east. Follow that for a few miles, keeping to the right of all the bodies of water you pass. You'll arrive at a decrepit hut. About here," I said, running my finger around and around in a small circle over a part of the map. "There's a large, raised clearing off to one side. The apostate you are after lives there." I paused, thinking about how Morrigan would take to having to deal with more than a dozen templars. With a mental shrug, I continued with, "There used to be two of them, but I killed one. The other one might still be there." It would serve the traitorous bitch right.

Bryant gave a soft gasp, looking uncharacteristically surprised. "You killed one of them?"

I nodded. "Yep. Do you remember Morrigan? The woman I was with in Lothering; the one with the... heh, unconventional fashion sense?"

He gave me a blushing nod, and said, with impressive certainty, "Of course."

"Well, the apostate I killed admitted that she was planning on using the blackest of arts to take over Morrigan's body and wear it like a living cloak. I still don't know what that would have done to her soul."

The templars all gave appropriately offended sounds at that. The map-bearer said hotly, "Such evil! And you killed the apostate? Well done, Warden-Commander!"

Maybe half the templars nodded their agreement, though a couple narrowed their eyes suspiciously.

I shrugged. "Well, Thedas is a better place without that witch. So, there you go," I said, rolling the map up and handing it back. "Good luck."

Bryant nodded. "Thank you for your assistance, Warden-Commander."

Conchobar suddenly realised that events were getting away from him. "I think I should place you under arrest in any event. If you are authorised to be outside of the Circle, we can sort it out back in Denerim."

I didn't let my expression change, but that was all I needed to hear. There was going to be a fight. I immediately began calculating scenarios. I needed to split the group at the very least.

"Ser Conchobar! We have no authority to detain the Commander of the Grey!" Bryant protested. "The King himself was a Warden. The Grand Cleric would not wish a potential diplomatic incident of this magnitude."

I looked at Conchobar's eyes, noting with no surprise that he was not relying on logic, but on his orders. Bryant's objections would be overruled. He was going to justify arresting me however he could.

I held up a hand, a rough plan forming. "If I may? I'm nearly done here. I just need a few more samples of this flower, but I can more easily gather them tomorrow morning when it's lighter. After that, I'm heading back to Denerim for the Landsmeet. They're naming me the Arlessa of Amaranthine, you know." I smiled evenly, but internally rejoiced at the sudden look of caution on Conchobar's face. "Why not assign a couple of your men to escort me back to Denerim? There's no need for all of you to go, especially since if you all leave, that apostate you're after will get away." I felt that I could easily deal with a pair of templars.

Conchobar's eye twitched. He couldn't deny that argument, especially if the majority of his templars believed that there truly was an apostate out here to be arrested. A templar stepped forward. "Ser Conchobar! I will happily volunteer to escort the Warden-Commander to Denerim," he said, sounding just like those students in the Circle who longed for the instructing Enchanter's approval.

"No," he said, glaring at me. "I shall take you myself." Glancing at Thunder, he hastily made some mental calculations and modified his solution. "Ser William, you are with me. The rest of you, continue on to the apostate's hut. See if it actually exists, or if this mage is lying."

Well, that went better than I expected. I only had to deal with two of them. Time to put some distance between the two who were coming with me and the rest of their friends. I turned my back on the group and snatched up my bag and flowerpot. "My camp is this way," I barked over my shoulder, and strode away quickly, not waiting for my newly acquired shadows to walk along. If there was going to be any unpleasantness, it had to be far enough away so that the others couldn't interfere. I headed for the densest part of the forest, to make following me as a group difficult, if they all decided to come along.

One advantage I had was that I was an elf. With larger eyes and better night vision, I could move far more easily in the dim, failing light than humans, especially those who routinely handicapped themselves by wearing helmets that limited peripheral vision. The surrounding forest was packed with inconveniently hidden logs and tree roots, hollows and copses. If the templars thought following me would be easy, they were in for a surprise.

"Warden! Stay your course!" Conchobar barked at me as I ghosted away between the trees. I grinned at the sound of his gasping. He was trying to run, give detailed orders and yell instructions at me without taking the time to draw breath. No wonder he sounded winded.

After a minute or so, the templar called William finally caught up with me. Panting and wheezing like a blacksmith's bellows, he reached out and grabbed my arm. "Hold, mage!" he snapped, only to drop my arm in fright as Thunder turned, rose onto his hind legs and placed a massive paw on each armoured shoulder. He shoved his muzzle an inch from the man's nose and growled, deep and long.

William whimpered, but froze under the faint glimmer of saliva on fang.

"Hold, I say!" Conchobar shouted again from quite a ways behind, his breath labouring at the sudden exertion. Running through trees in dim light was not easy for someone of his middle years. He cursed as he went down on one knee. "Damn it, mage, halt! Or I shall Smite you!"

I ignored them both and continued walking, ducking my way between the loosely packed trees. What with them stumbling over hidden logs, dodging Thunder and sinking into the loose earth, keeping ahead of them was quite easy. And if they thought Smiting me would stop me...

I heard Conchobar bark an order. Thunder gave a warning bark. I grinned, gestured him to stay where he was, turned to face the templars and steadied myself.

The Holy Smite crashed down around me. My grin didn't shift. Another followed less than a second later. This time, I grunted with effort, but remained standing.

"My turn."

I took a half step to one side to gain a better angle, and conjured a shard of stone. It flew from my hands and took Conchobar low, beneath his lower edge of his breastplate. Such a blow had the potential to burst his bladder, or perhaps do some other humiliating injury. In any event, it sent him to the earth with a wheezing scream. William was far closer. He had his axe in hand, the blade edge trailing fog and ice crystals, obviously enchanted with cold. He bellowed a war cry and leapt at me, attacking with a hard, overhand swing. I didn't bother moving, except for rolling my eyes.

"Idiot," I told him helpfully, as he looked up in horror at his axe blade buried three inches into the thick branch above my head. Swinging an axe in the middle of a thick forest was a recipe for self-disarmament, a notion that should be self-evident. However, it appeared to come as a surprise to the hard-of-learning. The templar tugged at his axe blade, trying to free it from the tree. His efforts were hampered by the fact that the rune-based cold magic had frozen the tree limb around the blade. Seeing my expression, he panicked and grabbed the axe handle with both hands, forfeiting whatever small defense he could muster. He pulled impotently at the handle with a groan of desperation.

Honestly, could he be any more stupid? With his shield out of the way, I stabbed him through the thigh with Spellweaver's tip. It slid through cloth, skin and muscle with some effort. I gave the blade a half twist, wrenching the wound open, then pulled it out, slicing a new edge to the debilitating injury.

He went down with a shriek, clutching at his leg, his axe still stuck in the tree. "Thunder, cover him," I said.

Trusting that my dog would do his job, I carefully made my way through the woods towards Conchobar. He had risen to his feet, shaking in rage and pain. I waved a hand, and cast a petrification curse at him.

The templar grunted, but managed to resist the spell. I gave a tight grin and a nod of appreciation. "Not bad. Not many people can throw off one of my spells."

He took up his spiked mace and raised it high, setting his shield. "I am protected by the Maker's gaze. Now, you die, mage," he snarled, and attacked - his movements still somewhat hampered.

A few moments later, another pair of templars crashed through the forest, stumbling and cursing. They had their weapons out. Bryant, the leading templar raised his sword. Not in threat, but in supplication. "Warden-Commander! Please hold your strike!"

I looked down on the ground in front of me at the templar Conchobar. Blood ran freely down his face from a cut I'd given him, which unless seen to fairly soon, would probably result in him losing his left eye. There was a bright side however, if he chose to look for it. Any man wearing an eye patch with a scar running from their forehead and ending on their cheek got a great deal of respect from damn near everyone. On the manliness scale, it rated off the chart. He'd never have to buy his own drinks ever again.

o_ooo000ooo_o

Cassandra sucked in a lungful of air in a gasp of shock.

The Warden gave her a lopsided grin. "Is there a problem, Cassandra? You sounded surprised there for an instant."

The Seeker stared at the elf, processing her words. It had been _she_ who had blinded Knight-Commander Conchobar's left eye? It would certainly explain the man's attitude towards women and mages.

"No," she replied, shaken by the implications. "Continue your story."

o_ooo000ooo_o

Despite the cut through his eye, Conchobar's inability to stand was a result of something else. All the templars I'd faced recently seemed to have the same gap in their training. He was still curled into a ball after I planted the point of my armoured boot hard between his legs. It wasn't the first time I'd used that dirty trick on a templar, and I doubted it would be the last. He cupped his groin, his mace injudiciously discarded to one side. Despite the pressure he applied, he was unable to prevent blood from the puncture wound seeping into his kilt.

On the aforesaid manliness scale, such a wound trumped any eye patch, and dropped you into the range of incessant mocking and hushed laughter.

"Hello, Bryant. Any particular reason I shouldn't use this bastard's blood to fertilise the forest?" I asked cheerfully, scanning for any other arrivals. Only two more?

Conchobar drew a haggard breath. His remaining eye, watering alarmingly, turned down so as to look at the tip of Spellweaver as it hovered over his throat. "Bryant!" he wheezed, unwilling to look away from the glittering metal edge. "Smite her!"

"No," the templar replied.

Honestly, I don't know who was more surprised, Conchobar or I. We both looked at the templar in astonishment. Whose question had he answered?

"I gave you an order!" Conchobar hissed, still in agony.

"You attacked her without cause, Ser Conchobar," he said, very formally.

"She was trying to escape," he ground out throatily.

Bryant, his face still carefully expressionless, did not look down. "She was not under arrest, Ser Conchobar," he said evenly.

"She didn't obey my order," he whispered, unable to draw a large breath.

"She is not obligated to obey you, Ser Conchobar," Bryant continued, still in that emotionless tone, staring at me.

I cleared my throat. "Is there a reason you're here, Bryant?" I asked sweetly. "I mean, this waste of space did order you to track down the apostate."

Bryant sighed. "This is Ser Jerrod," he said, introducing the templar at his side. "After you left, he pointed out that your rank among the Grey Wardens is Commander, which by military tradition, is equal to a Knight-Commander."

"And?"

"Well, technically, it also means that as a mage, you are of rank equal to the First Enchanter of a Circle of Magi."

I tilted my head to one side. "And your point is?"

He shrugged. "So, any Senior Enchanter of a Mage Circle is obliged to have an escort of a minimum of four templars when outside the Circle. Ser Conchobar's decision to accompany you meant that, by protocol, he should have selected at least two more of us to join him. Where is Ser William?"

With my left hand, I gestured with my thumb. "Over there somewhere. Thunder is playing with him. Just listen for the screams."

"Oh dear," the templar Jerrod said. "Shall I see to him, Ser Bryant?"

"May he, Warden-Commander?" Bryant asked me politely, apparently deciding that as the person holding the sharp piece of metal at someone's throat, I was in charge.

I shrugged. "I'd either sheath your weapon first or leave it here," I suggested. "Thunder doesn't react well to armed people meaning him harm." Jerrod immediately placed his sword and shield on the ground.

"Quite so," Bryant offered, sliding his own blade into its scabbard. He looked down at Conchobar for the first time as Jerrod headed off into the woods, following the low growling. "If I may, Warden-Commander? Please lower your weapon."

I narrowed my eyes. "This man tried to kill me," I growled.

"Yes, he did. But he did not succeed, and he is helpless now. If you kill him, it would be murder."

"Or simply high justice," I pointed out. "As the Arlessa of Amaranthine, I am entitled to dispense justice."

"You are not the Arlessa yet, though," he pointed out gently. His voice did not rise or harden, he simply spoke in soft, neutral tones.

"Bryant!" Conchobar wheezed.

"No, Ser Conchobar, I hereby relieve you of your command. We shall escort the Warden-Commander back to Denerim, where I shall present your actions to the Grand Cleric."

I stayed silent. While it was nice of Bryant to stick his neck out for me, I suspected I had a far more realistic view of how the Grand Bitch would react to his charges.

Bryant knelt, withdrawing two potions from his belt. Uncorking the first, the aroma of concentrated elfroot filled the air. The first magic-infused concoction stemmed the wounded templar's bleeding. The second stopped it all together.

Conchobar rose unsteadily to his feet. "You..." he glowered at me.

"Ser Conchobar!" Bryant snapped warningly.

"Me what?" I snarled back, ignoring Bryant.

"I shall see you executed for this," he said in a soft, menacing growl.

I groaned. Great. Greagoir, version two. "You hit me with a Smite and I shrugged it off. Two Smites, in fact. What makes you think you have the power to enact your sentence?"

Bryant blinked. "Then it is true? You can resist a Holy Smite?" he gaped.

I shrugged, as though such a feat was of no consequence. "Of course. It's not hard," I said easily. It occurred to me that the eight remaining templars, if indeed they were heading to Morrigan's hut, might also be in for a bit of a shock. I taught Morrigan how to resist Holy Smites too, after she swallowed her pride and admitted that the skill would be of quite some use.

"How?" Bryant asked hoarsely.

I grinned at him. "You expect me to tell a templar how I resist a templar's main weapon against me?" I chuckled.

He glanced at the man from whom he had usurped command. "No, I suppose not."

* * *

><p>"My camp is just up ahead," I said in the inky blackness. Night had fallen quickly in the deep forest, with no moonlight filtering through the cloud cover or even torchlight from a nearby town to provide illumination. Thunder had no difficulty in navigating through the forest, trotting along next to me. The templars were having a much harder time of it.<p>

As we rounded a small rise, campfires became visible. Bryant cleared his throat. "Warden-Commander? There appear to be multiple fires in your camp."

I nodded, though in retrospect, he probably couldn't see the action. "Yep. Come on, I'll introduce you to my escort."

"Escort?" growled Conchobar, his voice suddenly a bit wary. "You didn't mention that you had an escort."

I snorted, not bothering to reply.

It must have been an interesting sight. Five people and a dog trundling into an armed camp. Bryant assisted Conchobar, as the senior templar was still not fully mobile, while William leaned heavily on Jerrod, hopping with a thick tourniquet wrapped tight around his upper thigh. I had declined to offer healing to them.

"Commander?" the sentry on duty questioned. "Who are these templars? Did you run into some trouble in the Wilds?"

I shrugged. "They are part of a patrol out hunting for an apostate. They mistook me for one. We had a brief disagreement about it, which has been resolved to my satisfaction."

His eyes widened, and he looked us up and down. I was completely uninjured, while the templars were covered in blood. A massive grin flooded his features. "Right you are, Commander. The Captain is in his tent."

I nodded with a sigh. Explanation time.

* * *

><p>We left the Wilds the next day, after I'd gathered a few more living plants. Captain Francois was furious that I'd been attacked after leaving his protection, and took it upon himself to ensure I was never alone with the templars, assigning me a personal guard at all times. As unnecessary as that was, I did find it touching.<p>

As for the templars, Bryant was amiable enough, taking the time to chat with me often. We recounted our respective adventures since we'd parted ways at Lothering more than a year before.

Jerrod avoided me. Conchobar was still sulking that I had taken precautions to prevent him from murdering me in my sleep; said precautions consisting of keeping a two-dozen-strong escort a secret. His partner William travelled in the supply wagon. He was still not able to walk, unassisted or not, and would in all probability have a limp for life even if he managed to keep his leg. Judging by how far we were from civilization and the way he was relying on his dwindling supply of magical healing poultices, amputation seemed likely.

Oddly, Bryant didn't seem too fussed at this. Nor did he try and pressure me into some magical healing. He just... talked with me.

"Once the last convoy of refugees were on their way, I did a quick survey of the surrounding homesteads," Bryant recounted. "A small number of people refused to leave, preferring to wait for news about missing family members."

I shook my head. "I can sympathise with their situation, but that's suicide."

He nodded. "Well, it worked for one family. Their wayward members arrived just ahead of the darkspawn hoard, and they left their home with just the clothes on their backs. Somehow, they managed to make their way to Gwaren. I heard they spent several months in a refugee camp there waiting for a ship to ferry them to the Free Marches."

I looked at him curiously. "You followed the fortunes of one Lothering family? I must say, that's dedication. Are all Lothering templars as dutiful?"

He gave me a wry smile. "I would like to claim so, but I fear you have made an unwarranted assumption. The late head of that family was suspected of being a powerful apostate. Magic runs in bloodlines. We tend to pay a bit more attention to those suspected of possessing magical ability. The Chantry in Gwaren kept an eye on them until they departed."

I tensed. "Suspected? You didn't just arrest them?"

He shook his head, looking taken aback. In a tone of mild offence, he said, "Of course not. We cannot arrest someone without just cause. Suspicion is not enough, there needs to be a reputable witness."

I chose not to comment. Perhaps it was different in Lothering before the Blight. I glanced along the road, noting that our detour was coming up. I turned and called out to Captain Francois. "Our path goes right, up ahead."

Francois nodded, and turned back to his men, giving orders. Bryant looked up at me. "Our path? This is the highway to Denerim. Why are we deviating from it?"

I gestured towards the thick forest. "I have business in the forest with the Dalish. Hopefully, we shouldn't be too long."

"Oh, that won't go down well," he muttered. "Ser Jerrod!" he called out.

The younger templar trotted up the line of soldiers. Thunder barked a greeting. My mabari had taken quite a shine to the young man, graciously allowing him to throw a stick for Thunder's entertainment. But the sudden-onset blush and stutter combination he suffered whenever he so much as looked at me was annoying. "Yes, Ser Bryant?"

Bryant gave me a mildly disapproving look, but addressed his comrade. "Inform Ser Conchobar and Ser William that we will be deviating from our planned route. The Warden-Commander has business in the Brecilian Forest."

Jerrod sighed, but nodded, saluted, and marched back the way he had came. The relative peace was not to last.

Conchobar stormed up the line of soldiers, his facial expression an odd blend of fury and impotence. "What is this?" he demanded, stomping his feet with every step. "You said you were going to Denerim! Ser William needs medical attention! We cannot simply wait here for you to-"

Captain Francois, at the head of the column of soldiers, cleared his throat. "Remain respectful, Knight-Captain," he said in a flat, unfriendly tone. Several other soldiers began fingering the hilts of various weapons.

The templar flashed him a look of disgust, but didn't deviate from his course. He stomped right up to my horse's flank, glaring at me as though he could intimidate me into changing my mind. The effect was ruined somewhat by his left eye; the wound I gave him still weeping puss and other unidentifiable fluids.

"I am going to Denerim," I said sweetly. "I just have to take a short detour into the forest ahead."

"Why?" he demanded.

Conchobar's constant abrasive nature had alienated even the most pious of the soldiers in my escort - though it had to be said that, as a group, soldiers weren't all that pious to begin with. Several frowned and openly grumbled at the templar's attitude.

I just looked at him coolly. "That is my business."

"Now see here-" he exploded, before I cut him off with a sharp wave of my hand.

"No, you see here, _templar_. I am not answerable to you. I am not required to obey you, seek approval from you or defer to you. You are here by my invitation, and you will comport yourself accordingly. I have business in the Brecilian Forest. That is all you need to know."

The soldier assigned as my personal escort for the morning frowned as Conchobar stormed away. "Are all the templars like that, Warden-Commander?" he asked.

"Most of them," I said sourly, subtly casting a mild healing spell on myself to alleviate the headache brought on by trading barbs with Conchobar.

Bryant coughed. "That's hardly fair," he objected mildly.

I sighed. "Fine." I turned back to the young soldier. "Most of the magic-fearing ones are like that."

The soldier shook his head, and rubbed his left bicep. I suddenly realised that this was the soldier who'd had his arm pinned to his side by a darkspawn arrow on that night just out of Denerim. "Why? I mean, I get that magic is dangerous; you've shown that over and over. But can't templars sort of, get rid of it? Why are they so afraid of it?"

That wasn't a bad attempt at describing magical negation, at least for an illiterate soldier. "It's a puzzler, all right. But you are wrong about one thing. Any warrior with sufficient discipline can negate magic. I could give you some pointers myself, if you wish," I said with a smirk and a sidelong glance at Bryant.

Bryant's eyes widened. "What? No you can't!"

"Can't what?" I asked with a grin.

He looked very uncomfortable, all of a sudden. "Only those trained by the Chantry can summon forth the holy powers necessary to negate magic, Warden-Commander," he declared, though with less certainty than he wanted.

I chuckled softly. "Oghren isn't one for taking vows, Bryant. Despite that, he can Smite harder than Greagoir, a fact to which I can personally attest. And it appears I need to remind you once again; it's Kathryn, to you."

The soldier's gaze flicked between us. "Er, I'm sorry if I've said the wrong thing, Ser Bryant. I'm just a soldier," he offered, taking a few steps backwards.

I waved that away and answered for both of us. "You haven't. It's a common misconception."

Bryant shook his head. "I'm sorry, War- Kathryn, but in this, you are wrong. There are some other… things required for us to use our abilities, beyond mere discipline."

I looked at him sadly. "No, there isn't. But I suspect there is no way to prove it to your satisfaction out here."

* * *

><p>I spent almost a week in the forest looking for Lanaya's clan. Or even any Dalish clan. In all that time I didn't find a single hint as to their presence or where they'd gone. There were no recent aravel tracks, no halla droppings, and no abandoned camps. Nothing. It was as if the clans had just left the forest.<p>

Eventually, to Conchobar's smug expression, I had to admit defeat, and head north. The Landsmeet was due to begin soon, and I could not be late.

* * *

><p>It rained hard the day we arrived back in Denerim. I rode on my horse with head bowed against the blustering downpour, pitying the poor sods that had to march along the increasingly muddy highway.<p>

We'd camped in the usual planned spots along our route, but the weather during the past day had been a right bugger. It slowed our march down enough that we arrived at the capital almost two hours after dusk. Even Thunder padded along with a bowed head and a mournful air.

The biting rain kept the streets clear of both man and beast, leaving plenty of space for a double column of travel-weary souls. Even the palace guards on duty were keeping out of the weather, huddling in the small alcoves along the outer wall. We approached quite close before one of them decided to brave the rain and moved to challenge us.

Captain Francois met the challenge, gave his credentials, and we were permitted access. It was at this point that Conchobar once more presented his distinctive brand of idiocy to the world, demanding that I immediately go to the cathedral with him.

I ignored him and his rantings, not even turning around. I simply urged my horse into the marshaling yard where I'd first met the Cousland brothers six weeks ago.

"Kathryn?" Bryant called out to me as I passed through the gate.

I sighed, but turned in my saddle. "Come back tomorrow, Bryant. Please? I'll go with you to see your boss then. I'm just too tired to bother with her right now."

I nudged my horse forward and away from the spluttering Conchobar. Several figures emerged from the palace, the stables and the barracks. Rank has its privileges, and not dealing with a fractious, tired horse was one of them. I dismounted, and handed the reins over to a young lad.

Of course, rank also has its negatives, too.

"Warden-Commander," a page greeted me, the pouring rain rapidly dampening his hair and shoulders. "The Arl of Redcliffe would like to see you in his study," he told me.

I grunted, unbuckling the leather pouch with the diplomatic missives from the saddle. "No doubt. Did he want to see me right now, or could he wait until I've had a bath and something hot to eat?"

"Er," the young man prevaricated. "Arl Eamon said that he wanted to see you as soon as you arrived."

I resisted the urge to snap at the poor servant. "Fine. Thunder? Follow this nice man; he'll take you to Eamon. Take this for me," I said, passing the satchel to my mabari.

He grasped the leather straps in his jaws, and agreed with a muffled, "Whuff."

"Good boy, I'll see you soon." Hopefully, Eamon hates the smell of wet dog as much as I. It wouldn't take me more than an hour to get something to eat. Two at the most.

* * *

><p>In the end, Eamon sent another messenger, who caught up to me in the mess. Still, I'd eaten almost a whole bowl of hot stew, so my growling stomach was at least partially satisfied. I grabbed a bone for Thunder and followed the messenger to Eamon's study. As it turned out, to say that Eamon wasn't in the best of moods was quite the understatement.<p>

"Dear Maker! Fourteen templars, Kathryn! _Fourteen_! Most of them were initiates! Children!"

I glared at him. "Children, huh? Let's not beat around the bush, Eamon. You mean big, armoured children. Big, armoured children, armed to the teeth with swords and axes and were _trying their best to bloody well kill me_," I pointed out. I crossed my arms and sank back into the soft chair, with a sullen snarl on my face. "I was under the impression that I was permitted to defend myself."

"Defend yourself, yes. Wholesale slaughter, no!" he roared, slamming his palm down on his desk. From in front of the fire, Thunder raised his head. He noted that I was in no real danger, and went back to happily triturating his bone.

I narrowed my eyes. "Lower your voice while speaking to me," I growled.

His eyes bulged. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me. I can hear you just fine when you speak at your normal volume. Now, have you read the report I sent with your first messenger?"

Eamon's eye twitched. "Yes," he ground out.

"And how does it match up with the version of events you got from the Chantry?"

"It doesn't!" he spat. "But it also doesn't matter! The King and I have had to fend off demands for your arrest by the Grand Cleric every couple of days. She has been threatening us with excommunication and annulment of the Royal marriage, either of which has the potential to forcibly remove them from the throne."

I snorted. "So, because the old bitch has her smalls in a twist, she's making empty threats towards you. I have to say, so sodding what? Her own position is tenuous at best, and because of that she howls as loudly as possible in an effort to divert attention away from her own failings."

He slammed his fist down on his desk. "Her threats are not empty! The country is weak from the Blight and infighting. We need stability now more than ever. A schism with the Chantry could well open the floodgates for those malcontents who would seek to seize more power."

I rolled my eyes. "Maker's breath man, take your balls out of your wife's purse and stand up to her. There are plenty of things you can do to push the pressure back. Write to her boss in Val Royeaux and demand she be replaced on the grounds of gross incompetence and even more gross stupidity. Or throw together a draft of a law you ostensibly plan to debate at the Landsmeet where all templar and priest appointments and demotions to positions of authority within Ferelden need to be ratified by the Crown, and have a copy fall into her hands. Put her on the defensive and bloody well keep her there."

"It's not that simple," he said, thankfully ceasing his pounding the desk.

"Andraste's backside! Anora could come up with better ideas in her sleep! Why is this still woman still a problem?" I didn't mention that even as a last resort, Zevran could be commissioned to neutralise her threat.

Eamon's hands began trembling. "We need to keep her on our side!" he shouted.

"Why?" I demanded.

The Arl swallowed, but didn't answer.

I sighed and leaned back in my chair, staring up at the ceiling. "Shit. It's Connor. You're protecting Connor. Did she threaten him?"

"This has nothing to do with Connor!" Eamon responded, apparently hoping that intensity could trump the uncertainty in his voice.

I sighed. "Bullshit. It's the easiest way she has to influence you. And the most immoral, but hey, it's a priest doing it, so it's sort of expected."

He placed his elbows on the desk, and dropped his face into his hands. "This is getting out of hand. The harder we push for these reforms, the harder the mages' lives become."

I rubbed some fatigue from my eyes. "What happened after I left? Did Larkworthy complete his negotiations? Was he successful?"

"Yes," Eamon grunted. "I sent him because I believed him to be the most capable of all my agents. He had a clear understanding of what the King and Queen hoped to accomplish, and what they were prepared to sacrifice." He shook his head. "Whatever it was you did there, it worked. Knight-Commander Greagoir couldn't sign the papers quickly enough. The first tranche of mages left Kinloch Hold before the week was out. We got everything we wanted and more. That was the problem."

"What problem?" I asked.

The Arl took a deep breath. "Greagoir has been replaced. He was recalled to Val Royeaux, and forcibly retired. The new Knight-Commander, a fellow from the Denerim Chantry called Tavish, has reneged on the agreements, and has declared the mages who had already left for their assignments to be apostates if they do not return."

I crossed my arms. "I've just had a flash of clairvoyance. The Chantry is leaving it up to the Crown to enforce the order to return." With the templar numbers so low, it was a reasonable deduction.

Eamon looked startled. "How did you know that?"

"Lucky guess," I chuckled aloud and shook my head. "You have a signed agreement, over the royal seal no less, that allows mages to take up assignments offered around the country. And yet because one man tosses his toys out of his cot, it's null and void, and you are expected to police the broken agreement? I think you may have a bit of a larger problem than just a new Circle Knight-Commander, Eamon."

"He has the backing of the Grand Cleric and the Divine, Kathryn. It is not just one man."

"So tell them to negotiate a new agreement. Take your time. Demand an in-depth investigation of the risks and benefits of having a healer mage in every town. Insist on sending people to personally observe the actions of the mages. Drag out the negotiations for weeks or months. The old agreement still has legal force, unless the Chantry has changed its mind about being subject to mortal laws. They've always been so pious about the fact that they obey all temporal authority. Unless they've changed that policy. I don't remember seeing such a proclamation."

"Don't be obtuse," Eamon snapped. "Of course they have made no such claim. But they are ignoring the agreement as it stands. The mages in the tower are being treated appallingly."

"Oh, that'll make the ones outside want to go back," I snorted. "So, the Chantry is ignoring an agreement made with one of its duly authorised officers, just because it doesn't like it. But they're leaving it up to you to police their decision, so that it isn't them that actually breaks it. Is that about it? And we're back to Connor being threatened, because that's about the only thing that could prevent you from laughing in their faces."

In lieu of a response, Eamon sank back down into his chair. "Damn you, Kathryn. Why did you need to kill so many templars?"

"Oh for the love of... I killed so _few _templars, because they backed down. They were trying to kill me, Eamon. Do you even understand that? Do you get it?"

"Whatever exaggerations you've convinced yourself…" he started.

My expression must have changed, because he trailed off. In my coldest voice, I hissed, "I now see where you went wrong, Eamon. You believe that we mages are treated like human beings behind the tower doors. We are not." I took a deep breath, let it out, and tried to make him understand. "Look, the templars consider us dangers, and for a very good reason. The simple fact is that we are dangerous. You know from personal experience what happens when a mage makes a deal with a demon. But the easiest way to train a templar initiate to kill a mage he might speak to every day is to dehumanise all mages first."

Eamon swallowed. "I…"

I waved a hand to silence him. "Generations of dehumanisation has literally turned mages into a lower form of life. Like the elves in an alienage or the caste-less dwarves of Dust Town, we have fewer rights than a normal person. Templars don't regret killing mages, Eamon. They see it as a necessary part of their jobs."

His eyes flicked over to a shelf filled with parchment. "Your report to us then, it was all true?"

I nodded. "Greagoir tried to disarm, strip, and imprison me the moment I walked into the tower. Given how the bastards acted afterwards, I'm certain they'd have executed me and told you nothing."

The Arl appeared to deflate. "Being a Warden should protect you from such actions."

I barked a humourless laugh. "As I told Alistair, it will protect me if there are witnesses. Otherwise... not so much."

"It appears that the Chantry is moving even more blatantly that I feared. I have always been a loyal and devoted son of Andraste and the Maker. My wife is devout beyond what is deemed suitable by the majority of the Fereldan nobility. Yet that all counts for nothing when I stand against them in any small way."

I shook my head, wondering if maybe, just maybe, recent events had succeeded in opening his eyes to the world. "You've stood against them in more then just a small way. I'd watch my back if I were you."

Eamon just shook his head. "It is not just me who needs to worry, Kathryn. The Grand Cleric has made threats against you too. Public threats. I would be surprised if she had not already sent out templars with orders to apprehend you, despite the illegality of such actions."

I gave him a wide smile. "Good instincts. She sent out a templar team that caught up with me in the Wilds."

He jerked his head up and stared at me in horror. "You killed them, didn't you?"

I shook my head. "No, as a matter of fact, I did not. I didn't have to. I believe her need to keep overt moves against me secret worked against her."

That caught his attention. "Oh? What do you mean?"

"Not all templars are rabidly anti-mage. They all get the training, but I've met some who respect us as people. Obviously, the idiot woman can't tell everyone to break the law; only those who believe as she does, that the ends justify the means."

Eamon processed this. "The group who caught you had both types of templar?" he guessed.

I nodded. "The leader, a chap named Conchobar, was determined to arrest me, even after he'd been informed that he had no authority over the Wardens. One of the templars was someone Alistair and I met in Lothering, a man called Bryant."

Eamon started. "Ser Bryant is alive?"

I nodded. "As of a few hours ago, yes," I replied, hoping that it was still true. I laid out the recent events, of how I invited a few of the templars to join me on my trip to Denerim, of how I was attacked, and how the soldiers treated the templars on the march home.

Eamon ran his fingers over his beard, deep in thought. "If it is the Grand Cleric and not some rabid underling giving the illegal orders, then things are even more dire than you believe."

I scoffed. "Let me ruin your night completely then. The orders regarding me, whoever gave them, are the least of your worries."

He blinked. "Explain."

I spread my hands. "This is speculation, but it does fit the facts. Keep that in mind."

He nodded, gesturing at me to continue.

"Starting with the facts. One, the Circle is currently getting only one fifth of their usual lyrium ration. Confirmed by Irving himself. Two, the dwarves are shipping out the exact amount as required by their contract with the Chantry, as they have for centuries. Confirmed by direct observation in Orzammar. So, somewhere and somehow, a large amount of lyrium is going missing. I think the Grand Bitch is stockpiling it."

"But the difference could be going missing anywhere," Eamon pointed out. "Why do you suspect the Grand Cleric?"

"You're right. But if it was being stolen in transit, there'd more than likely be a glut on the black market, whereas at present prices are only slightly inflated."

He looked confused. "All right, I can accept that there is lyrium going missing. But you haven't said why."

"Logic dictates that she is either using it or hoarding it. My hypothesis is that she's building a lyrium stockpile."

He frowned. "Why?"

"You know that templars are given lyrium, right? Supposedly to boost their powers?"

Eamon looked stunned. "Really?"

Shit, didn't Alistair tell his chief advisor _anything_? "Yes. It does nothing of the sort, of course. They are given it because it is addictive. It gives the priests a leash over the templars."

Were it possible, Eamon looked even more flabbergasted. "Really?"

I growled under my breath. "Yes, really. You can confirm it all with Alistair later, but for now, just accept what I'm telling you, okay?"

He nodded mutely.

"Good. Now, the longer templars take lyrium, the larger the dose they need. Older, more experienced templars are being ordered away from their usual postings and replaced with initiates. Even before I thinned their ranks, the Circle had barely half their usual compliment of templars. And most of the ones assigned there have barely started shaving."

From his expression, he still seemed pissed at me about that. "Go on," he growled.

"After I finished at Orzammar, I stopped at Redcliffe on my way south. The same thing had happened at the Chantry there. There were only two experienced templars there in charge of the dozens of initiates. Every town and village I went through followed the same pattern. Almost all of the experienced templars have been ordered away and are presumably assembling somewhere in the country. And because they all wear the same armour and those full-faced helmets that give them that inconvenient anonymity, we have no clue where they are."

He paled.

"I see you've drawn some conclusions. The old cow in the cathedral has a private army at her disposal, with a stockpile of the addictive drug she uses to control them. Tell me, does that terrify you as much as it does me?"

He shook his head, not in denial of my question, but in shock. "This is intolerable. I need to... We cannot just... How can..." He looked up at me. "This is a big problem."

I nodded with broad, overexagerated sweeps of my head. "No kidding." I told him about the templars who'd falled victim to the band of bandits, north of Redcliffe. And of the similar pairs of incognito templars we passed more or less constantly on the roads around Ferelden. I watched him closely, to see what his reaction would be. The sudden intake of breath and terrified expression was all I'd hoped.

"You don't suppose... Oh no."

"Just figured something out, have you?" I smirked.

He covered his open mouth. "There is talk of an Exalted March on Ferelden, due to our change in policy towards the Circle of Magi. I had discounted it simply because there is always talk of such to rectify inconsequential issues, invented by people with no vision. But it occurs to me that while a massing army would be noticed, a large number of travellers constantly on the move around the country would not."

I nodded. "And there it is. Well done."

Eamon's response was interrupted by hurried knocking at the door. "Enter," he snapped.

A guard's head poked into the room. "Your Excellency, there are several templars at the front gates. They are demanding the Warden-Commander surrender to them."

I sighed deeply and rubbed my forehead. "Bugger," I said, with feeling.

Eamon glanced at me. "What do you intend to do?"

"Well," I sighed, rising from my chair. "I suppose I'd better go and tell them to bugger off. Come on boy," I ordered Thunder. He gave me a long-suffering look and ponderously rose to his feet from where he was lying in front of the fire.

Eamon frowned. "Are you sure?" he asked the messenger. At the young boy's nod, he said to me, "They have no authority to detain you. There has been no warrant placed for your arrest, and you are no longer a mage of the Circle. You are beyond their power. I don't understand what they hope to accomplish."

I should try and bottle his naivety. I'm sure there's a market for unquestioning faith in authority. "Have you not been listening to me? These people don't care that I'm a Warden. I'm a mage to them. I'll always be a mage to them. Having me out from under their thumb is offensive."

Eamon wrung his hands together, his faith in the Chantry colliding with reality. "What do you plan to do? I can have an escort assembled to ensure you are not imprisoned unjustly."

I gaped at him. "I'm not _going_ with them! That's absurd! If I place myself in their power I'll be dead within the hour, escort or not. Bugger that!"

"Then... what? What shall you do?"

I sighed, walking through his study door, past the messenger. "Like I said, I'm going to tell them to sod off and go home. Then, I'm going to bed. I'm exhausted."

"But... they won't just go! Not if they have orders from the Grand Cleric!" he said, stress causing his voice to rise in pitch and tone.

I rolled my eyes. "Look Eamon, what do you want me to do? Kill them? It would suit me just fine, and maybe, just maybe, the idiot woman in charge will get the hint that sending templars out after me just leaves her with dead templars. But that would probably cause Alistair more problems than he needs right now, so I'll try to convince them to go home. You might want to call in the undertakers though, just in case."

Eamon pursed his lips. "I was trying to suggest that it would be best if you did not inflame the situation with your presence."

That drew me up short. "Oh?"

He nodded, his eyes looking on some distant idea. "Yes, I think that perhaps _I_ should take care of this problem. I shall convince them to leave you in peace for now. I can at least be of some assistance there."

I raised my eyebrows. That sounded… optimistic. "Really? How?" I challenged, highly suspicious.

He smiled. "There are sometimes better methods of persuasion than merely being in the right. Just, go and finish your dinner first. Give me an hour, then meet me in the entrance hall." He gestured to the messenger. "Young man, come here. I need you to go and get several of your work mates to deliver some messages for me. At least six."

Whatever it was he was planning, it could be examined on a full stomach. Thunder and I marched off towards the mess.

o_ooo000ooo_o

AN: Many thanks to my reviewers - Rhagar, MB18932, qweenseeker, Lil' Bunny Lynn-Lynn, Nightbrainzz, Arsinoe de Blassenville, TheDawgg and Alifangirl21 - they're opiates for writers.

My apologies for the lateness of this chapter. I was trawling through the coda and various Bioware sites to make sure I got the titles and the templar structure right, but every time I found something, I also found something that trumped it.

Eventually, I went with information from an interview transcript with David Gaider. Even that interview contained some contradictory information (like the templars actually needing lyrium for their powers - but the effect just wears off slowly…)

Hopefully, a twelve thousand word chapter is reward enough for your patience.


	12. The meeting of lands

disclaimer type=standard

Anything you recognise is Bioware's. I daresay anything else belongs to them too.

/disclaimer

o_ooo000ooo_o

"It took them so long to come and attempt to arrest you? Two hours?"

Kathryn shrugged and gave a soft laugh. "Maybe it took that long to find some templars who didn't faint dead away at the prospect of trying to arrest a mage who didn't respond to mild persuasion methods."

Cassandra narrowed her eyes. "Mild persuasion methods?"

"Holy Smites and the like."

The Seeker gave a soft snort. "Mild indeed." She turned and paced the small cell, running her fingers over the chess board on the table. Kathryn had exhibited extensive strategic and tactical thinking during their game. "You came to the conclusion that the templars had been ordered to move constantly around Ferelden to avoid detection? An intriguing possibility. Unconventional, but intriguing nonetheless."

Kathryn made a face. "Yeah. I thought it was a great piece of deduction on my part. Pity I was wrong."

Cassandra raised her eyebrows. "Wrong? Hardly. They _were _an armed force constantly moving so as to avoid detection."

"I was wrong," the mage snapped. "Yes, there were a few hundred templars moving around the country. I thought they were constantly on the move specifically to avoid gathering in one place, not that they were part of a very slow, subtle supply network. Once I made the incorrect deduction, I just stopped thinking. It was a critical error on my part."

The Seeker cupped her chin with her hand. "What would you have done differently?"

"I should have convinced Eamon to order the army patrols to scout out all the lightly travelled areas of the country, to confirm that there were no gatherings." She shook her head angrily and pounded her leg with her fist. "I should have remembered! Loghain _told _me! He said that you could hide an army in the forests of Ferelden. By the Black City, he did it personally during the occupation!"

Cassandra waited for the Warden to finish her self-castigation. It was the first time she had seen anything but self-assurance in the elf. Perhaps she could build upon it. Kathryn Surana expected so much of herself, and failure, even when success could hardly be expected, galled her. "Neither you nor Arl Eamon were ever formally trained in the logistics of armed forces. Many nobles generally prefer to leave such details to underlings."

Kathryn snorted. "It wasn't only logistics that I was ignorant of," she grumbled. "Bryant and the other templars all but shouted to the world that they were assembling at Ostagar. They said they were after an apostate, but I assumed they had come from Denerim, rather than from somewhere nearby. They were nervous when I mentioned the fortress, despite the fact that there was nothing to be nervous about. The fact that the templar with the map had personally seen the ruined Warden watchtower was another clue." She turned and hurled a ball of sparking energy at the cell wall, where it exploded and left a chrysanthemum pattern on the stone. "I should have realised why the Dalish had left the area. It was all there, and I missed it."

The Seeker hid her smile. This loss of discipline could be exploited. "What would you have done had you inferred such?"

"Does it matter?" she said, throwing herself onto the bed. She pulled her legs under her into a cross-legged position, and leaned her back against the wall. "I'm not so naive to think that there wasn't a plan B. And probably a plan C, D and E as well. After all, it was dreamed up by a man so coldly calculating that he positioned his troops years ahead in preparation for a _possible Exalted March_. I wouldn't be surprised if he had a plan for every letter of the alphabet."

Cassandra nodded. "As I said before, it was a brilliant military strategy."

"And I agreed with you," Kathryn said, darkly and with much reluctance. "They gathered south of the usual patrols. Hundreds of two man wagon teams kept them supplied, but hidden. Had the Exalted March gone as planned, the force at Ostagar would have split up and moved north as soon as the Ferelden army marched to secure the expected invasion routes - the Frostbacks and the ports. A force of a thousand behind those fronts could have completely destroyed all the supply lines, supporting infrastructure, crops, harvests and civil works. Ferelden would have been gutted, completely unable to respond to either threat. The Chantry would waltz back in and assume control of everything. They'd probably have allowed Orlais to manage the civil aspects of the occupation, just like before. Alistair, if he'd been allowed to remain on the throne at all, would have been a puppet, dancing to the Chantry's perverse tune."

The Seeker regarded the Warden carefully. "And, yet again, you undermined it. All that effort, completely wasted."

The Warden flashed a glare of pure rage at the Seeker for a single instant, before barking a laugh. "Yes, well, that's what I do best, isn't it? Accidentally screwing up carefully laid plans just by being in the wrong place at the right time. I suppose my sanity was a small price to pay."

"Your sanity? Is that why you disappeared afterwards?"

Emerald eyes blazed, at Cassandra felt a shiver run down her spine.

"We're getting a little ahead of ourselves,"she ground out between clenched teeth. "All of that that happened months later - after the Wardens destroyed the two darkspawn factions in Amaranthine. Let me tell you about the Landsmeet."

o_ooo000ooo_o

Two bowls of stew, a loaf of bread and another thick, meaty bone later, Thunder and I made our way to the palace's entrance hall at Eamon's request. The guards on duty nodded to me, and opened the double doors leading to the main antechamber. Through the thick, outer doors to the palace courtyard, I could hear what sounded like an angry crowd. That didn't bode well. Though, rather incongruously, the two guards on this side of the doors did not appear too concerned.

"Ah, Kathryn. Right on time," Eamon said as he strode down the hall behind me, flanked by a quartet of soldiers. "Things are not going well for the templars sent to collect you," he said with a self-satisfied smile.

"Oh?" I blurted, surprised. "What's happening out there?"

"Why don't you go and have a look. I think it safe to say at this point that they won't notice you."

I frowned at his enigmatic answer, but turned and walked over to the main doors. One of the guards saluted me, and carefully opened the door about two feet. I cautiously stuck my head out.

A squad of a dozen or so templars were in a heated exchange with what appeared to be… Denerim. Soldiers, merchants, elves and townsmen all shouted insults and epitaphs at the holy warriors, who had drawn themselves into a tight huddle in an effort to weather the storm of abuse. In the flickering torchlight and light drizzle, their armour glistened, but showed evidence of having been pelted with mud and unidentifiable foodstuffs.

Someone noticed my head and shoulders sticking through the door and recognised me. "It's the Warden!" came a shout, which swept around the courtyard like a fire through a patch of grease. A great cheer arose, and morphed into a two syllable chant. "War-Den! War-Den! War-Den!"

I don't ever think I've been so surprised in my life. I was literally dumbstruck. As I scanned the cheering crowd, I picked out familiar faces. A very large number of familiar faces, in fact. Some of the soldiers I'd recently travelled with. Some of the Denerim City Watch, including Kylon. Shianni and some more elves from the alienage I'd rescued. People I'd saved from darkspawn. From blood mages. From bloody Arl Howe.

I could not speak - my brain was literally not working. Face after face from the past year stood between me and the templars. Literally shielding me from the Chantry with their bodies. And they chanted. My stomach twisted inside me, and I felt tears well in my eyes.

The templars, on seeing their target, tried to move forward. It turned out to be a mistake.

Eamon pushed the door fully open and stepped forward to my side. We watched the events unfold without moving. "I do believe this was a success," he ventured.

"Yeah," I blankly agreed as the templars ran for it, pushing each other out of their way as they individually tried to escape the hail of mud, rocks and abuse. "That looked painful," I offered, unable to come up with anything more profound.

"Quite. I fear I may be stating the obvious, but from your expression I judge it necessary. You are not reviled for being a mage, Kathryn. You are a hero to these people." He gestured with a sweeping arm. "The Chantry may claim spiritual authority over us, but just like the crown, that power derives from the consent of the people."

I swallowed, looking at the cheering crowd. "So I see."

"Go. Go and greet them. Take your time. We shall continue our conversation tomorrow."

I nodded absently, before stepping down the steps and into the light drizzle. Among backslaps and handshakes, I began to understand that the impact I'd had by finishing the Blight was nothing compared to the lives of individuals I'd shaped with my actions.

I'd saved everyone in Thedas by defeating the archdemon. But that was an ephemeral fact, one which you could not even begin to understand the consequences. Whereas almost everyone in the loud, boisterous crowd had been affected personally by my actions.

It was said that by saving one life, you change the world. If so, then from the joy and pleasure I saw on the faces surrounding me, I must have changed it beyond description.

* * *

><p>Before I met with Eamon again the next day, he and the royal couple had their daily briefing. The arl was noticeably more subdued afterwards. Nothing more was said about my actions, either during or after my visit to the Circle, just the expectations that would be made of me during and after the Landsmeet. We spoke of the Orlesian Wardens who had arrived in Denerim while I had been away, and the fact they had already left for Amaranthine and Vigil's Keep.<p>

A dozen Orlesians in the heart of Rendon Howe's old demesne. Oh, that was going to be a welcome to remember.

"Oh," he offered as the meeting was winding down. "I've found you a recruit."

I froze, glaring at him. "What?"

He looked surprised at my tone. "Er, I found you a recruit for the Wardens. A palace guard who recently foiled an assassination attempt on the King. She was given a knighthood as a just reward and a place in the Shields, but wishes to join the Grey Wardens."

I crossed my arms and leaned back. 'The Shields' or the 'Royal Shield' were a small company of guards who were personally responsible for the safety of the royal couple. Admission was rare, and considered the pinnacle of a career as a guard. "Really? And why would she wish to do that? Especially if she's been promoted to the Royal Shield?"

Eamon frowned, looking puzzled. "Because she wishes to be part of something larger? I'm not sure what you mean by your question."

I took a deep breath. "Eamon, I am the Commander of the Grey. I decide who to recruit, not you."

He looked uncomfortable. "Well, both Alistair and Anora agree that she would make a fine Warden."

I grunted. "Aha! So, Anora is involved. What's the story?"

He sighed. "There is no need to be so testy. She is a perfectly able-bodied warrior; keen and diligent. She would be a worthy addition to your ranks."

"And? Why is Anora involved?"

Eamon's eye twitched. "Her Majesty has expressed her interest in Mhairi's career..."

"Eamon!" I snapped.

He slumped. "Very well. Ser Mhairi has, since saving the King's life, expressed more admiration for him than is appropriate. She has long been an admirer of his, and her close association as one of his personal guards has exacerbated her infatuation."

I sighed. "So Anora wants her out from under her husband's gaze."

"Indeed. She is a magnificent warrior, by Alistair's own appraisal. And she has personally expressed a burning desire to join the Wardens. But yes, it is mostly Anora's idea."

I ran a hand over my forehead. "So, who else have I been saddled with?"

"No one," he insisted. "The Orlesian Wardens took several recruits from the general populace with them to Vigil's Keep. They left a week ago. Ser Mhairi is the only one I have had any interaction with. She left with the last supply line yesterday. She will be there by the time you arrive."

The feeling that decisions were being made for me made me testy. As much as I disliked being required to make all the decisions of command, I was damned well going to make them myself. If something went wrong, it was my backside that was going to be kicked.

The coming gathering of nobles had me rather nervous. The last one had but one purpose, the resolution of the question of leadership. With no such ground-shaking issue pressing, this meeting of Ferelden's nobles promised to be a much more political animal - with nuances and subtleties I had no way of recognising.

Almost every noble in the country was in Denerim, which inevitably meant that the thieves of the city were doing a roaring trade. I wandered around the city the following afternoon, chatting to merchants and gossips, trading both goods and information. Any templars I saw studiously ignored me. It was glorious.

I didn't go looking for Slim to see if there were any political enemies of Alistair or the Cousland brothers who could do with having their assets diverted into more deserving hands. Without Leliana or Zevran at my side, my chances of success were slimmer - significantly so. I did however spend a number of hours running profitable errands for the Collective.

I also imposed upon a family-run apothecary which specialised in plants and plant derivatives. For a handful of silver, I got a crash course in plant maintenance; how to care for the wilting samples I'd gathered a week before. We extracted what seeds we could from the pressed samples, rendering them fertile and capable of germination.

Eventually, I had a bag of seeds, the pressed samples and hopefully enough hints to keep the four precious live samples alive.

Back at the palace, every servant, cook and page were running around in a sort of chaotic dance that seemed to accomplish little. Even as I tried to sleep hours later, the constant noise and bustling made it difficult.

* * *

><p>The next day, the Landsmeet formally convened. Alistair and Anora, both bedecked in clothes produced by that effeminate Orlesian, opened proceedings with a pair of short speeches.<p>

In contrast to the traditional agenda, the main hall in the palace was converted into a long, thin buffet. Nobles and guests were invited to fill up on sweetmeats, fruits, pastries and wine; a lot of wine.

Mingling, as only a noble could, was _performed_. It was the only way to describe it. Political chatter ranged up and down the hall. This was an event for all with noble blood, not just those with titles. Young lords and ladies ran up and down the room, pudgy faces smeared with foodstuffs, while nannies and governesses tried desperately to regain control of their charges.

Elderly men and women sat and traded stories and advice, with varying degrees of success.

All in all, it seemed to be to be a waste of my time. I was repeatedly accosted - noble after noble, lady after lady. People I'd never met, all wanting my advice, or seeking clarification about the darkspawn threat, or simply wanting to be seen speaking to me. After six hours of it, I had not changed my mind - it was definitely a waste of my time.

I sipped from my wine glass, the crimson liquid as dark as my mood. My gown constricted and rubbed me in unfamiliar ways. My feet ached from the idiotic shoes I'd been supplied with, and wore only at Anora's insistence. Already my magic leaked and bubbled out through my irritation, leaving the air nearby chilly in the warm air of the ballroom. Most people avoided me now, unaccustomed to the unusual magical potential in the air.

That wasn't to say I was ignored. Teagan nodded to me from across the room from where he had been bailed up by some eager, artless spinster. The ninth of the afternoon, by my count.

Around me, nobles and their families circulated and gossiped. Delicate negotiations were conducted next to a pair of belligerent drunks on the verge of challenging each other to a duel. Betrothals between infants, lines of succession, political alliances, all were fair game. And the same, stupid dance continued.

I waved my hand at my feet and relieved the pain with a delicate caress of healing magic. Any templar in the room would instantly feel the magic, but I couldn't bring myself to care.

I let my gaze wander around the room. I recognised most of the garishly dressed nobles. Anora sat on her throne at the far end of the hall, surrounded by a cloud of vapid ladies. Her long sedentary session was fuelling speculation that she may be pregnant, a rumour that was no doubt already on its way to the various kings and queens around the world by fast messenger.

Arl Wulff looked to be almost as unsocial as I, leaning against a pillar with crossed arms; though he took the opportunity to give me a nod of solidarity from his position. His arling had been hit hard during the Blight, and offers of aid from nearby nobles had been thin on the ground.

Ceorlic looked unhappy, his lips pursed tightly together in an unmanly pout. So tightly, in fact, that his mouth bore a strong resemblance to a cat's bottom. His status had taken quite the hit, as had his purse - the darkspawn had rendered his lands unusable for this growing season. He was going to be looking to...

"Warden-Commander Kathryn, I presume?" an urbane voice interrupted my musing.

I turned to face the newcomer. A slender man of average height and early middle years stood next to me, his hands clasped behind his back. He wore a severe, dark grey tunic, much out of place in the garishly coloured crowd. It looked like a blend of monastic and military fashions.

"Yes," I ventured, seeing no reason to lie.

He allowed his right hand to fall from behind his back, and he held it out for me to grasp, as if from one equal to another. "It is an honour to finally meet you. It has been a desire of mine for many months." He was obviously not Fereldan; he spoke perfectly fluently, with barely a hint of an Orlesian accent. His voice was deep and smooth, a delight to listen to. It hinted at culture and education. Leliana would have been insanely jealous.

I nodded and took his hand. He was wearing black silk gloves, which did nothing to hide the strength behind his grip. "A pleasure," I intoned perfunctorily.

He nodded just as perfunctorily, his hand slipping back behind his back. "To be perfectly honest, I did not believe that I would have the opportunity to observe a Fereldan Landsmeet, let alone introduce myself. Not being part of the landed gentry, you see."

I gave him a crooked smile and a soft chuckle. "The landed gentry are all out there, performing their own little dances, trying to gain some perceived, yet transient, advantage over each other," I said with mild derision in my tone.

He smiled easily. "Alas, such political manoeuvrings are all but universal across Thedas, from villages to mighty cities. The mighty and powerful would like to believe they are unique in their intrigues, but they are truly universal, simply scaled down. Even the Chantry suffers from wasteful infighting and pointless arguments at all levels."

I suddenly felt the need to examine this man more closely. "The Chantry?" I asked, running my eye over his frame, noting details. He held himself upright, back straight, feet a shoulder-width apart. A military bearing. Was he a soldier? A templar? It seemed unlikely. He didn't have the bulky build of someone who wore heavy armour for a living, but he was certainly no stranger to army life. A chevalier, perhaps?

"I work for the Chantry, yes," he admitted easily. "I am a scholar more than anything else. A philosopher perhaps, if you wish to use the ancient terms. I study lore and history, and reconcile ancient teachings with our current knowledge."

I nodded, not believing it for an instant. "I must say, Brother Genitivi is not as imposing a figure," I said, trying to see how he responded to flattery.

He gave me a small smile, as though I'd said something amusing. "With my build, I am hardly imposing, Warden-Commander, but I take your compliment in the spirit it was offered. But yes, for all Brother Genitivi's achievements, physically imposing he is not. You met him, did you not? In the village of Haven, I understand."

I nodded. "Yes, we found an old… temple there."

"And, supposedly, the Ashes of Andraste."

I eyed him carefully, looking for some hint of scorn. "They were Andraste's Ashes, unless you think that…"

He held up a black-clad hand. "I believe that you believe you discovered Andraste's final resting place. I believe that your companion Leliana also believes such. As a scholar however, I am required to maintain a certain level of scepticism to such fantastic claims, before they can be validated."

I fought to keep a sneer from my face. "Do you intend to maintain your scepticism in the face of all evidence, or are you willing to accept the idea that Andraste's Ashes are really there?"

He didn't appear to take offence. In that same, urbane, cultured voice, he said, "To be frank, I would be most surprised if this temple did not in fact hold the holy bride's ashes. It is certainly not inconsistent with Chantry lore. Your friend, Sister Leliana, led a contingent of priests and scholars to the temple. Unfortunately, the being called The Guardian proved unwilling to cooperate with them. Several important people perished in the maze that ostensibly protects the Ashes."

I found that I liked the mental image of pompous windbags demanding access and then discovering that they were not worthy. "Important to whom? Themselves?"

He actually gave me a thin-lipped smile. "Quite," he replied vaguely. "I suspect that their personal opinion of their importance had less to do with their work in the Maker's name, than their rank within the Chantry. As it stands however, there is no consensus as to the veracity of the discovery."

"Brother Genitivi is convinced, and he is famed as the foremost scholar among the Chantry," I pointed out.

He inclined his head in acknowledgement. "Indeed. Genitivi is nothing if not diligent, even if he does not consider the consequences of publishing theories not validated by the Chantry hierarchy."

"Inconvenient?" I asked with a smile.

The man hummed what sounded like non-verbal agreement, without actually saying he agreed. "On occasion. The world moves on, you see. Values held dearly in one age may well be considered quaint, or even inhumane, in a subsequent age. While the Chant itself is eternal, political expediency has been used as a justification for temporary changes. Brother Genitivi has a habit of tracking down these changes - and more importantly, the justification for making them - and bringing them to light."

I nodded. "As I said - inconvenient."

He gave a small shrug, not denying it. "And as I said - on occasion. He is a scion of a minor branch of a noble family, and was educated as such. He has devoted his entire life to scholarly pursuits; a worthy goal. As devout as he is, the Chantry did not provide him with anything, and he does not hold the stern, unbending belief in its work that others do. Those of us left upon the sacred steps of the Grand Cathedral as babes are all given an education which includes military training, before we are permitted to chose undertakings more suited to our talents. We are raised with love and affection, and in return we give ourselves to the Maker's work in our own small way."

I nodded, but said nothing. I examined him as closely as was polite, noting his hair style, skin tone, clothing quality, even his scent. There was a very familiar scent lingering about this man.

He continued, not the least disturbed by my silence. "I'm afraid I was never an exceptional warrior in my youth. Most of my martial success was a direct result of diligent study, my great passion."

"Ah, now in that we have something in common," I offered with a smile, feeling dirty at having to play nice.

"Indeed, I suspected as much," he replied, his own smile genuine. "Sadly, I suspect that neither of us have as much time to devote to study as we would like."

I found myself nodding in agreement. "How do you see the Chantry's current political ambition in Ferelden?" It wasn't particularly subtle, but I wasn't interested in verbal fencing.

He raised his face and took a deep breath, as if considering the question. After a pause, he said, "The Grand Cleric has overstepped her boundaries, without question. It should never be the Chantry's policy to manipulate the civil authorities. Her goal should be merely to advise and spiritually guide. Though I must point out that this state of affairs has been a long, ongoing issue in Ferelden."

I raised an eyebrow. "Oh? What about it has been ongoing?"

He inclined his head at my question. "There has been friction between the ecclesiastical and temporal powers in this kingdom for many years now. Long before you were recruited from the Circle of Magi. You would not be aware, but it was the Grand Cleric who insisted that one of her Revered Mothers be part of the Council of War at Ostagar. A pointless, even detrimental assignment. The Revered Mother's poor understanding of tactics caused much consternation among the army leaders when she tried to manipulate things. And her prejudices against mages prevented them from being used effectively, long before the decisive battle."

I took a deep breath myself. Where was this going? "That is true, though in all honesty, there is no way to know if we would have been successful had Uldred's suggestion been implemented."

He shook his head. "You misunderstand me. I was in no way suggesting that it would have been a rousing success or a cataclysmic failure, merely that a priest has no business interfering in the decisions made by a War Council. Nor does a Grand Cleric have any business interfering in the lawful running of a kingdom. The spiritual needs of her flock _must _be her first priority."

I nodded, as though accepting him at his word. "A templar would have been a better appointment to the War Council, if someone from the Chantry was needed," I said, dropping the idea to gauge his reaction.

He shook his head, to my surprise. "No. The templars at Ostagar were there for a very specific duty. Even those high in the Templar Order's ranks are not specifically trained in the strategic and logistic issues involving entire armies. Teyrn Loghain's attention was split between managing and leading the army with placating an ignorant woman." He shook his head. "A most unfortunate state of affairs."

I regarded him carefully. "A pity that such opinions are not more common among the priesthood."

He gave a soft grunt, whether of agreement or disagreement, I couldn't tell. "The Grand Cleric of Denerim was promoted too early, unfortunately. As you would expect, she was a political appointment, the decision made in Val Royeaux to appease a specific faction. She had yet to grasp the acceptable limits of her position, and strove to extend her influence - ostensibly for the benefit of the Chantry. Now, she expects, as her due, power and control she should not have. Indeed, that she should never have possessed. Her impertinence contributed to your Queen Anora's declaration of the Fereldan Circle of Magi's independence."

I had not ever expected to hear a Chantry man, even a scholar, expound such thoughts. That lack realisation sent my paranoia into overdrive, and I wondered why he was trying to ingratiate himself with me. I shook my head. "No, Circle independence was something I requested of her. Honestly, I didn't expect her to agree, let alone announce it to the world without discussion."

He too shook his head. "I'm afraid that your request was simply a fortunate excuse. Queen Anora has been in a long-running battle with the Grand Cleric over the extent of her power over the Crown. Both King Maric and King Cailan passively permitted gradual encroachment, which Queen Anora has in recent years tried to claw back. She saw your request as an opportunity to strike far into territory held by the Chantry, to use a military metaphor."

While I did not believe him out of hand, it did make a sort of sense. Especially given the circumstances surrounding the Circle's usual governance. However, to get a better understanding of this man, I decided to outwardly agree with him. "Hm, you know, that makes sense. Anora's been holding out on me. Using me."

He gave me a gracious smile. "Your Queen is a most intriguing woman. In any event, her declaration charted the Grand Cleric's course. Her priestly pride would not allow her to retreat from her long won positions of influence over the crown, nor could she simply allow the Circle of Magi to be allowed to govern itself. These recent unpleasant events have been a direct result."

"You're saying it's all Anora's fault?" I asked, knowing full well he wasn't claiming such.

"Of course not," he replied calmly, as though in a lecture rather than a debate. "It is factually a consequence of your Queen's decision. Just as it is a factual consequence of your ill-considered request. The _fault_," he emphasised by raising a lecturing finger, "lies in the character of the Grand Cleric. Pride is a dangerous attribute in those with power. It cometh before the fall, as it were."

How interesting. A Chantry man who considers things, thinks about things. Who does not accept rulings without examining them. How refreshing.

I blinked. How dangerous.

Who was this man?

Before I could as for a proper introduction, he gave me a small bow. "Forgive me for taking up so much of your time, Warden-Commander. It has been an honour."

"I- er," I said intelligibly, having my chain of thought broken.

With that, he strode away, completely at ease.

Why had he left so abruptly?

The answer came a moment later. "Ah, Mage Kathryn," a honey-sweet voice with hidden barbs said from behind me.

I rolled my eyes and turned. "Wotcher," I said with an informal nod, knowing that it would piss her off.

It did. The Grand Cleric of Denerim flushed at my greeting, but held her sickly sweet smile in place. "I was under the impression you had committed to meeting me at the Cathedral yesterday." She held out her hand bearing her ring of office for me to kiss. It did not escape my notice that she held it significantly lower than custom dictated.

I just stared at her. "Really?" I asked, making no move to either bend knee or pucker up.

She lost her smile and gave her hand an imperious shake. "You did not come," she snapped.

"No, I meant, _really, you had that impression_? Seriously?" I said, dismissing her insistent hand with a wave.

The templar at her side stiffened. "Greet the Grand Cleric, mage," his voice echoed out from underneath his bucket helmet.

"No," I replied.

He clenched his fists, the metal gauntlets creaking against the leather inners. "Show respect, or..." he trailed off, threateningly.

"Or what?" I asked mildly. "You'll Smite me? That's been tried. Do you want to have a go? Unsatisfied with having the usual number of eyes, are you?"

He drew a sharp breath, and stepped back.

I nodded in satisfaction, before turning back to the priest. "Have you ever heard the expression, 'respect is earned'? Well, so is contempt." I turned my back on the Grand Bitch and walked briskly away. I could have ranted at her for an hour or so, but that would undoubtedly have given ammunition to my enemies. That and I wasn't sure I could keep myself from immolating her. Or entombing her in a block of ice. Or sucking the life force right out of her. Or...

My brief conversation did not go unnoticed. A great many discussions broke off momentarily, then resumed at a higher pitched buzz. I drained my glass and placed it on the tray of a passing servant, deciding against any further alcohol for the evening.

"Well, this Landsmeet is far more entertaining than I first suspected," a familiar voice said to my left.

I broke off inventing elaborate fantasies involving the painful death of the Grand Cleric and turned with a smile. "Aedan! You're back from Orzammar!"

Aedan gave me a crooked smile. "Still nothing wrong with your powers of observation, Kat. May I introduce you to my betrothed?" He turned to one side, and included the tall, severely pretty lady at his side. "Bann Alfstanna, Commander Kathryn Surana of the Grey Wardens. Kathryn, this is Bann Alfstanna of Waking Sea."

I nodded to Alfstanna. "We've met," I said easily, to Aedan's obvious surprise. "How is your brother?" I asked the Bann politely. "I hope he is recovering well."

Alfstanna inclined her head imperiously. "There has been little change, though I still retain some hope of improvement. Thank you for your concern, Warden-Commander, I shall mention it to Irminric when I next see him." She turned to Aedan, looking down her nose at him. "Warden-Commander Kathryn discovered and rescued my brother from Rendon Howe's clutches."

"Ah," he said, and diplomatically didn't say anything more.

Alfstanna flicked her gaze between us, lingering on me. "I shall leave the two of you to reacquaint yourselves. I need to speak to my designated successor. Excuse me."

I raised an eyebrow as she drifted away. Her gown fitted her very well, highlighting her feminine attributes, while disguising her musculature. She was definitely a warrior; she looked and moved as though she'd have given Cauthrien a fair showing.

Aedan sighed. "She doesn't like me," he said sadly.

I gave him a sympathetic look. "Give her time, Aedan. How long have you been betrothed?"

"Almost a full day now," he said sardonically.

"And you expected her to warm up to you so quickly? You might need to aim your expectations a little lower."

He shook his head. "She hasn't liked me for years. Waking Sea is just to the west of Highever, you see. While not a vassal, her father was a regular visitor with my father during my childhood. She still sees me as the snotty-nosed kid she had to be nice to, who followed her around like a puppy. I was eight years younger, and just about the most irritating little bugger you could imagine."

Ah. They had a history. "You're still eight years younger, you realise," I pointed out. "Why did Anora pair you up, if you don't get along?"

Aedan grimaced. "It's part of her grand plan. I can't say too much about it before the formal announcements."

I gave him a small smile. "Are you getting Gwaren?" I murmured softly.

He blinked, looking taken aback. But before he could answer, another figure approached from behind me and intruded on our conversation. "Giving away my secrets already, Kat?"

Aedan's eyes widened, and he bowed deeply. "Your Majesty," he intoned.

I turned and grinned at Alistair. "What secret? I just keep my ears open and all sorts of things fill them."

He gave me a long suffering look. "I've debated the merits of that idea with exactly four people, Kat. All of whom were sworn to silence."

I wiggled my eyebrows. "Sworn to secrecy, perhaps. Silence, not so much. Remember, my ears can be a bit better than most."

He made a face. "Ah, right. That. I suppose I should have guessed."

"Guessed what?" Aedan asked, thoroughly confused.

"Magic has many uses," I said with a mischievous grin. "One of them is... _adjusting _things so that your ears are better, or your vision is sharper."

Alistair rolled his eyes at the explanation but didn't contradict. Aedan's expression was thoughtful, then turned suspicious as he looked at me. I really needed to remember that Couslands were quicker on the uptake than most.

Alistair reached out and snagged a glass of wine from a passing servant, and deftly changed the subject. "I noticed that you met the Grand Cleric, Kat. No blood was shed either, so I suppose I should be grateful. Would it kill you to greet her properly?"

I shrugged. "It would probably be the death of one of us. Who would you prefer?"

Aedan suppressed a laugh. "You should form a club with Fergus, Kathryn. The Grand Cleric has been hounding me to intervene with my brother over his decision to evict the Highever priests. Beastly woman. She can't take the hint that I fully support him."

"Yes, well, hopefully the Divine has placed limits upon her," Alistair said, taking a sip of his wine and nodding to someone off in the distance. "I'm quite impressed with the man they sent to evaluate the discovery of Andraste's Ashes. He seems capable of persuading her to moderate some of her more excessive moves."

I gave him a questioning look. "Who is that?" I asked, strongly suspecting the answer already.

"The chap you were talking to earlier," he replied. "I didn't want to interrupt; you'd been speaking to a Chantry representative for more than two minutes and no one needed rescuing or cremating. A record, I believe."

I took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. "That was no scholar."

Alistair's eyebrows shot up. "What makes you say that? He was formally introduced to Anora and I at court yesterday - as a scholar from the Grand Cathedral in Val Royeaux."

I snorted. "If he's just a scholar, then so am I. He's a templar. A Knight-Captain at least, but more likely a Knight-Commander."

Aedan and Alistair shared a look. "Uh, Kathryn? Are you seeing templars everywhere you look? He doesn't look like he could even stand up if he put on templar plate armour," Aedan said tentatively.

"Aedan's right, Kat. What makes you think he's a templar?"

"He's got a grip like iron, he stands like he's on parade, and," I paused, but pressed forward. "I can smell it."

Aedan gave me a lopsided grin. "Smell it? You can smell the 'templar' on him?"

I nodded. "Yes. He smells of lyrium."

Alistair drew in a breath. "Kat," he hissed.

Aedan shook his head and softly said. "I know about the templar addiction, King Alistair. It is quite a common rumour among the criminal element of the city. There is a thriving black market for it among the templars at the Cathedral." He turned to me. "But you could smell his rank?" he finished in a disbelieving tone.

I shrugged. "Not his rank, just the concentration of the dose he takes. It's quite potent and it's on his breath. They don't bother giving the initiates and rank-and-file templars that quality."

Alistair pursed his lips. "Damn. Zevran was right."

I raised my eyebrows. "As much as Zev would love to hear you say those words, what was he right about?"

Alistair sighed, and looked around for anyone listening. Given we were in the middle of a hall full of professional gossips, and he was, you know, _the king_... I can't imagine why he thought he _wouldn't _be eavesdropped upon. "He said that a high ranking templar was being sent to deal with the issues around the Circle. By the Divine herself."

I nodded thoughtfully. "Where is he now that he dredged up that rumour?"

Alistair gave me a lopsided grin. "Sorry Kat, I can't tell you."

I nodded, not in the least bothered. "No problem. So, what is his name?"

"Darrian," Alistair said. "Well, Knight-Commander Darrian, if you are correct."

o_ooo000ooo_o

Cassandra frowned ever so slightly at the mention of the name.

To her sure and certain knowledge, it had been Knight-Commander Darren who had been assigned to evaluate the veracity of the resting place of Andraste. It seemed a simple mistake; in terms of the importance of the interrogation, it seemed hardly worth mentioning.

It was just… _Darrian_ was the name of one of the Vanished. Knight-Divine Darrian had disappeared from the Grand Cathedral. He, along with a fellow Knight-Divine, were the first to be reported missing.

She wanted to believe that it was a coincidence. That the inconsequential mispronunciation of a name was nothing to be bothered with.

But she did wonder. Was it possible? The Warden did have a connection with one of the Vanished. Did she have a connection to more than one?

Without interrupting the exposition, she filed away the supposition for later analysis.

o_ooo000ooo_o

When Alistair finally convened the business end of the Landsmeet, most people were already a fair way into their cups. Quite a few were snoozing off their inebriation, though most who had a voice in the proceedings managed to keep their composure.

Fergus was affirmed as the lord of Highever by unanimous acclamation. Not a single dissenting voice was heard. It wouldn't do to offend someone who controlled such a vast stretch of coastland, with the corresponding vast number of trading ports. Not unless you wished to be unable to transport your goods around easily.

Alistair then announced the betrothal of Aedan and Alfstanna, along with them being named the lord and lady of Gwaren. I watched the crowd for the reaction. As Anora had predicted, any mumbling and grumbling over the Cousland family gaining such wide-ranging power was quickly drowned out by hushed questions about what was to become of Waking Sea.

It was then that I finally understood Anora's plan. It was as brutal as it was effective, if only because of its absolute disregard for tradition. None of the nobles would have seen it coming.

More political marriages were announced. In instances where the happy couple had supported Alistair and Eamon, or at least came from families who had done so, they were elevated to large land holdings. Dozens of Banns were uprooted from demesnes their family had managed since the days of Calenhad, only to be gifted larger, more valuable domains.

Anora had taken full advantage of the deaths and forced vacancies among the country's teyrnirs, arlings and bannorns. She gave Gwaren and Denerim to her supporters. She then gave the newly vacated lands to other supporters who had smaller holdings. Leaving one or two smaller holdings to be filled by other lesser nobles.

Instead of only a handful of extremely lucky nobles, almost all of those who supported us at the previous Landsmeet ended up with more land and influence. There was some resentment among them, certainly. But the mood was definitely positive.

I marvelled at her gumption. Anora had essentially shifted over half the nobles in the country around like some perverse child's game. In one fell swoop she had temporarily sated the ambitions of dozens of people, increased her own support immeasurably, and added new, loyal blood to the landed nobility by promoting untitled sons and daughters of loyal Banns to the smaller vacated holdings.

Of course, the nobles who had stood against the crown didn't fare so well. Ceorlic in particular looked as though he was being tortured, if his expression was anything to go by. He kept his title and lands as those around him drifted up the ephemeral nobility ladder, all while he voted in favour of every single appointment raised and offered by Anora. Was that the price demanded of him to keep his title?

And finally, we came to Amaranthine. Standing tall on the landing over the hall, Alistair raised his arms for silence.

"Thank you. I am sure you have noticed that we have one prominent arling left. The crown gifted Amaranthine to the Grey Wardens in the aftermath of the Battle of Denerim, all those weeks ago." He began recounting a long and largely fictional account of our adventures, omitting the more blatant illegal activities while exaggerating the more heroic.

"The Grey Wardens of Ferelden were crippled, not only by their inexperience and numbers, but also by their lack of resources. Tithes guaranteed by treaty and law had not been paid for many years, and many questioned the relevance of the order, even as King Cailan and Teyrn Loghain battled darkspawn in the south."

There was quite some murmuring and shuffling of feet. Many nobles appeared to feel some small shame at their actions denigrating an order that subsequently saved their collective arses. Or maybe I was giving them too much credit.

"The question of tithes needs to be revisited," Alistair continued sternly. "It is obvious to all that the darkspawn are an ongoing threat, even should they retreat for generations at a time. We cannot afford to have a weakened order standing between Thedas and darkness when next the monsters emerge. The Grey Wardens must be given their due, first and foremost."

More than a few noble eyes betrayed their panic at that point. I imagine that a decade or two of back pay would all but bankrupt many on the floor. Especially since at that point, those who had been bumped upwards would have had no idea just how much their holdings owed the Grey Wardens. What a sneaky minx we had for a queen.

"To that end, we propose that the Grey Wardens of Ferelden be gifted the arling of Amaranthine, in lieu of all past owed, present due and future tithes. With their own holding, they can both support themselves and protect Ferelden."

I glanced at Anora, who predictably kept her expression studiously neutral. I couldn't help but give a soft chuckle at her scheme. The nobles most likely to object to the Wardens ruling Amaranthine were undoubtedly the ones who owed the most in back-tithes. It was a beautifully elegant piece of extortion. Agree, or pay up.

Alistair waited for a few moments to let that idea sink in before continuing. "The nominal arl or arlessa would be the highest-ranked, Ferelden-born Grey Warden stationed at Vigil's Keep. It would no longer be an hereditary title, but one assigned by charter. Should Weisshaupt nominate a foreign Commander of the Grey, they would not automatically be the lord of the holding."

That at least got a murmur of approval, especially given the fact that at present, I was the only Fereldan Grey Warden. The Orlesian Wardens were still distrusted.

Objections were raised, of course, once the tedious details of the deal were laid bare and the deliberations were opened to the floor. My elven heritage was brought up, and seemed to be a bigger stumbling block than my status as a mage. The fact that I was an un-marryable woman was not really considered pertinent, given the non-hereditary nature of the title.

In all honesty, I was stunned at the level of support the idea had. The Grand Cleric muscled her way to the podium and ranted about the nomination, offering no real substance to the debate - merely taking the opportunity to denounce me specifically, and mages in general. Given that the major objection to date had been my race rather than abilities, she really couldn't see past her own prejudices enough to be effective opposition. Her words were not heeded to as she would have liked; most in attendance ignored her, while those who actually agreed with her stance looked embarrassed at her vitriol.

The voting that took place was a study in human nature. Those who had the least to lose, the collective Banns of the Bannorn, mostly voted against, though Ceorlic actually abstained. Teyrn Aedan and his vassals voted for. But it was Teyrn Fergus and his bloc who carried the vote. Fergus even took the time to make a speech castigating those who voted against the nomination as self-centred, short-sighted imbeciles. Or words to that effect at least, he was a diplomat's son, after all.

So, Anora's scheme had worked, to my surprise. The arlessa of Amaranthine was now an female elf mage Grey Warden, who had no idea what she had to do next.

I wondered what Alistair intended to follow up with at the next Landsmeet. He'd need to do something really messed up to top this one.

Still…

Arlessa Kathryn.

It had a nice ring to it.

o_ooo000ooo_o

AN: And, we're into Awakenings. Thank you to all my reviewers to date - Arsinoe de Blassenville, MB18932, Isabeau of Greenlea, Alifangirl21, reviewer45, Nightbrainzz and Hydroplatypus (Seriously cool name, by the way…) - I love reading them.

Honestly, I didn't expect that it would take over 100 thousand words to get here, but I've enjoyed writing this.

As I've mentioned before, I will not be doing the usual retelling of the Awakening storyline. Most of the action will be around character interaction, and the differences in how the side quests are completed. It should only be three or four chapters before we're back into the original stuff again.

Thanks for reading. I'd love to hear what you think.


	13. Evicting unwanted squatters

disclaimer type=standard

Anything you recognise is Bioware's. I daresay anything else belongs to them too.

/disclaimer

o_ooo000ooo_o

Cassandra rubbed her chin as the Warden paused her narrative to clear her throat. "Did the man you identified as a Knight-Commander introduce himself to you at all?" she asked tentatively.

Kathryn frowned. "Not during the Landsmeet. Why?"

The Seeker paled. "Then, he did introduce himself... afterwards?"

"Yes," the Warden admitted, her hands once again trembling. "He put those damned shackles on me personally."

"I see." Cassandra shuddered. The thought of what happened to the elf… "Darren deserved more than mere excommunication," she said, fishing for confirmation of the templar's name.

The Warden tilted her head to one side. "Darren? His name is Darrian."

Cassandra felt her heart skip a beat. Either the Warden was mistaken, or the investigating Seeker had been in error. He had reported that the man who'd engineered the Warden's capture had been called Darren. It seemed odd that he would get such a simple fact wrong in his report.

But the mage referred to Darrian in the present tense. Was he the Knight-Divine who Vanished? Or was it just another coincidence?

"Ah, my mistake," she said, still mulling the implications. "Please, continue. What happened after the Landsmeet?"

o_ooo000ooo_o

I ran my fingers over my eyes, temporarily rubbing the weariness away. It had been a long day that had followed an equally long sleepless night, but from the sounds of the revelry still emanating from the ballroom, tomorrow morning was going to be a fair bit quieter. The impending monumental headaches would see to that.

It would be a brave servant who so much as didn't walk on tiptoes. If one dropped a tray of dishes, they'd probably be dismissed on the spot, if not executed.

I made my way back to my quarters, having finally fended off the amorous advances of several drunken nobles, their sons and even some of the more brazen ladies. I couldn't help myself blowing a kiss towards the Grand Cleric as I left however. Her sudden, puce-coloured visage of fury was a glorious sight to behold.

The instant I opened the door to my quarters however, my senses were on edge. I froze and carefully looked around the room, searching for what was out of place. Something was wrong, but everything looked... normal. Thunder was even asleep in front of the fire. But still... something was definitely wrong.

After a few moments of my standing still in the hallway, a cultured, Antivan accented voice said, "Ah, my lovely _bella donna_. Such paranoia you have. It warms my heart."

I sighed, and lowered my guard. Thunder wouldn't have let in an unwelcome intruder. He and Zevran always got along quite well. Well, from a week or so after the assassin first joined my group of misfits, that is.

"Evening, Zev," I grumbled, stepping into the room and shutting the door. "I wish you wouldn't break into my room like that." I let a flicker of primal fire light the candles next to the bed. Even as weary as I was, I still maintained a discipline over my power. It was the one thing I would never allow myself to let go of.

Zevran emerged from the shadows on the far side of the room. "Ah, but you were always so insistent that I leave your person alone. How else am I to seduce you, if you won't allow me to visit heavenly delights upon your delicious figure."

I sighed. "Right now, the most attractive thing you could do for me would be to ensure I get ten solid hours."

He breathed a soft curse in Antivan. "_Creatore_! You expect me to be able to keep going for ten hours? You Wardens have quite unrealistic expectations; far beyond the abilities of us mere mortals," he said, his tone playful.

"Sleep, Zev. I want ten hours of sleep."

He shook his head. "Ah, such a cruel woman you are. Raise my hopes beyond all reason, then dash them the next instant."

I sat down on the bed and yawned. "When did you get back?"

"Early this morning." He stepped around the bed and knelt behind me on the mattress. A moment later, his warm, strong hands were massaging my neck and shoulders. "What in Thedas have you been doing? You are practically trembling with stress."

I couldn't help but close my eyes. "Oh, Maker, that's good. Yeah, just there. Oh, yes. _Yes_. Oh, Zevran!"

I could hear the smirk in his voice. "Already? It is quite rare for the first to occur in less than a minute, even for me."

"Just shut up and don't stop, would you?"

"As you wish, my deadly sex goddess."

For all of his boasting, Zevran certainly knew how to use his hands. I could feel the tension drain out of me under his tender, if moderately dirty, ministrations. "Oh, that's good. Did you have a nice trip?"

He hummed noncommittally. "I had a profitable trip. You know how it is; travel the world, meet interesting people, find out what they know and then kill them."

I grunted. "Been there. Done that. Did Alistair tell you about my visit to the Circle?"

Zevran's voice held both amusement and admonishment. "No, I heard about it in great detail from a templar in Val Royeaux. Tsk, tsk, what did I teach you about leaving enemies alive?"

"If I followed your advice, I'd have killed you before you woke up."

He gave a theatrical groan of pain, and thumped his chest with one hand. "Right here, light of my life. You wound me."

"Tell me I'm wrong then," I sniggered.

"Cruel, wanton woman. Turning my own lessons against me." He continued kneading at my neck for a minute or so, before pushing my gown's shoulders down my arms and running his fingers up and down my spine.

I felt a shiver run the length of my body. "Andraste's arse, that feels so good. What did the templar say?"

Zevran was silent for a moment. "The Divine herself has taken an interest in you. That is not a particularly safe position for a mage to be in."

I sighed. "Well, if I keep killing her templars, she's bound to be pissed."

Zev's hands paused, but quickly continued. "This is not about the templars, Kat. Not directly at least. You are a threat to the establishment. People who threaten the stability of powerful organisations are usually removed. By people like my former associates."

I took a deep breath and sighed, which turned into a yawn half way through. "Sorry Zev. I'm not bored, just tired."

"Mmmhmm," he hummed in agreement, his magical hands still easing the tension from my shoulders. "I would hope not. I have spent quite some time developing my skills. If they were to be described as boring, I would have to consider renouncing this life and taking vows."

"Bullshit."

He chuckled at my crude retort. After a few more moments of blissful silence, he ran his fingers down the outside of my shoulders, pushing my gown further off my frame. "Lie down, my sweet. Let me relax you completely."

I didn't have the energy to tell him no. In a moment, I was naked except for my lower smalls and lying face down on the bed cover, with him squatting over my haunch and gently circling his thumbs up and down my spine. I let out a groan of pleasure.

He laughed softly again. "You know, it really shouldn't be so difficult to convince you that this is a good idea."

I hummed an agreement, suddenly unsure exactly why I was always so wary of letting him put his hands on me. "Am I still considered off-limits by the Crows?"

He pressed his thumb hard into a particularly tight knot of muscle. "It is hard to say. By Ignacio, certainly. He is as close to an authority in the Crows as you get here in Denerim. And more to the point, he would prefer to survive; accepting a contract on you has proven to be somewhat unwise in that regard. But there are other cells operating in Ferelden. The thing that protects you the most is your reputation. No Crow would dream of taking a contract on you without... most generous remuneration."

I groaned as the pain in my back spiked, and then gently washed away. "How generous?"

He sighed. "Maybe a dozen individuals in the country would have the resources. You are allies with most of them."

"What about organisations? Or syndicates?"

"Very good, my sweet. Many merchant families have the resources, though fewer now than before the Blight. Some criminal organisations too. The Chantry, certainly. Perhaps even the Revered Mothers in Denerim and Amaranthine alone could entice the Crows to target you once again."

"Sodding wonderful," I grumbled.

He chuckled with evident amusement. "Your time among the dwarves was well spent, I see."

I gave a soft snort of agreement. "That reminds me. Are you going to the Circle any time soon?"

His hands paused their heavenly work. "Possibly. What makes you ask that?"

"You are, aren't you?" I said.

He didn't answer for a moment. "Did you guess? Or know?"

I shook my head against the mattress. "It was just a question, Zev. I take it you're going with Larkworthy or someone, to protect them while they pretend to do some negotiations?"

"Something like that," he admitted. He changed to lightly tickling my skin.

My back twitched under his attention, and I wriggled away from his fingers. "Something like that, eh? Will the new Knight-Commander have an unavoidable, horrifying and fatal accident while you're there?"

"I could not possibly speculate," he said, amusement dancing in his words.

"Right. Good luck. Would you do me a favour while you're there?"

He leaned forward, and I felt his lips brush the skin between my shoulders ever so faintly. "Anything," he breathed.

A shiver ran through my body at the ghostly touch. "There's a box of lyrium in the bottom drawer of my desk over there. Would you deliver it to a mage called Godwin for me? He should give you sixty sovereigns for it."

He groaned. "Dear Maker, you are perfect, no? A powerful, lethal sex goddess who treats heresy with the contempt it deserves."

"Heresy? It's only lyrium."

"Oh, my delectable mistress," he laughed. "I cannot believe that you do not know. Lyrium smuggling is, by Divine decree, an heretical sin."

"I don't bother about that shit," I offered. "But if that's the case, you'd best ask Godwin for seventy sovereigns instead."

He gave a whimper. "I honestly did not think it possible for me to adore you any more."

I chuckled softly. "You say the sweetest things."

He ran a finger along my ear, from the lobeless base to the tip, causing me to shiver again. "I shall take your box for you, my dear. But know that my heart remains here with you."

I sighed, not having the willpower to debate him. "What do you think I should do about the bitch in Val Royeaux?"

He didn't answer for a moment. "There is little you can do directly, short of having her assassinated. And her successor may or may not be any better. Otherwise... stop making trouble for her and her representatives. Let the templars rule the mages at Kinloch Hold. Publicly endorse the Chantry. Kiss the Denerim Grand Cleric's ring when she offers it to you. It is only your actions that they find disagreeable, not you personally."

"So, they want me to be someone I'm not?"

"Exactly, my _bella donna_. A Loyalist mage who happily returns to the gilded, island prison after defeating the Blight would be most agreeable to the Divine."

Anger washed away some of my fatigue. "That's not who I am," I said flatly. "It's not who I'll ever be!"

He chuckled. "This I know full well. But it is something the Divine does not. For all her power, she is very sheltered. The Clerics and Knight-Divines who surround her fill her ears with honeyed words and assurances that all is well. She prefers to believe that the mages of Thedas _want _to live under her Chantry's governance."

"Seriously?"

"Oh, yes." He pushed my hair to the side, leaned down and kissed the nape of my neck. His hot breath wafted across my skin and over my ear as he whispered, "Powerful people are often insecure. They prefer to listen only to those who give them good news. And when someone comes along who upsets them..."

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from moaning. "Then I'm an evil bitch who needs to be destroyed."

"Not quite so harsh, my sweet. They don't want you destroyed, per se, just... retired. Removed from the public's gaze. The Denerim Grand Cleric told your old friend Greagoir that if you ever stepped foot in the Tower again, you were to be detained and," he paused momentarily, "re-educated."

"They tried that," I murmured.

"So they did. And didn't their failure cause some comment. There is a rumour running rampant among the bucket-helm-brigade that you can resist their Smites. Another reason you should have killed them all at the Tower; now they know."

"It would have taken me too long to kill them all," I justified. "Plus, I'd have got more blood on my boots and I hate that. They're a right bugger to clean properly; you've got to get a tiny brush into all the little crevasses." I gave a half sigh-half moan at a sudden change in technique. "How are they taking it?"

After a low laugh at my response, he replied with maddening vagueness. "About as you would expect."

"Zev," I growled.

He started kneading my lower back. "Oh, fine. Growl at me. Just because..."

I grumbled, and put my hands underneath me to push myself up. He leaned forward, placed his palms on my shoulder blades, and gently pushed me back down.

"They're terrified of you," he said, serious. "Desertions are up, which is always a good sign that things are going your way."

"Oh, that's priceless."

"Indeed, my love," he whispered, sliding himself off my backside and sitting next to me. His delectable fingers began caressing my inner thighs, making my toes curl.

o_ooo000ooo_o

Cassandra turned away from the Warden, to hide the beginning stages of a blush. "Why are you telling me this?" she demanded.

"Oh, I don't know. You asked?"

"I did not ask for eroticism!" she snapped. With her back turned, she could not see the Warden's expression, but the tone of her voice made it clear that she was smirking.

"You asked what happened after the Landsmeet."

Cassandra clenched her teeth together. "So I did. And apparently, what happened was that you added a second companion to your tally," she snapped nastily.

"A third at that point, actually," she replied with no trace of embarrassment.

That revelation brought Cassandra up short. "Oh? Who was the second?" she demanded, her discomfort making her catty. "The drunken dwarf or the qunari warrior? Or did you lie with Loghain while in Redcliffe?"

Kathryn remained silent until the Seeker turned to face her once more. "The second was Alistair. Didn't Leliana tell you? She was the first."

Shock caused Cassandra to stare at the elf, leaving her unable to physically hide her crimson cheeks. "What?" she exploded.

"Leliana was the first of my companions I bedded. Did she not tell you? Goodness, what else has she kept from you?" Kathryn said with a playful toss of her head.

"Nothing!" Cassandra immediately responded. "Leliana is a Seeker of Truth, and hides nothing!"

The Warden leaned forward and lowered her voice into a conspiratorial whisper. "Did she tell you that the King of Ferelden is _very _generously proportioned? We had quite saucy discussions and debates about whether or not innocence and inexperience could be overcome with enthusiasm and stamina."

The Seeker clenched her fists at her side, praying that her blush would subside. "And how would she know about the Ferelden King's attributes? Besides hearsay and gossip?"

Kathryn gave her an artfully innocent expression. "Because she has direct experience. Let me tell you, it was a week before anything could have shifted the grin from Alistair's face after a night with Leliana, Isabella and me!" There was silence for a moment before she continued. "Are you all right, Cassandra? You appear to be hyperventilating. Perhaps I should gloss over the more carnal details and you can calm down. Yes?"

A stiff nod was all the response Cassandra deigned to give.

"Very well. Zevran was gone the next morning before Thunder woke me the next morning."

o_ooo000ooo_o

After letting Thunder out for his morning rituals, I staggered down to the guards' mess hall. I ate my porridge slowly, luxuriating in the warmth that seeped through my body, growing spoonful by spoonful. My eyes still felt full of sand. But, despite my weariness I was remarkably relaxed. It had been a very pleasant night. One that was unlikely to be repeated soon.

"Er, excuse me, Warden-Commander?" a tentative voice intruded on my meal.

I looked up at a familiar young man. "Yes? Pickering, isn't it?"

The lad nodded. "Yes, Commander. I wanted to thank you."

I took another mouthful. "For?"

He blushed lightly. "For your words to King Alistair. He has taken an active interest in my career."

I gave a soft snort. "Most commoners don't like having royal attention."

"Well, it has been good for me, at least," he said nervously.

I jerked my head at the seat opposite me. "Sit down. Are you hungry?"

"N-no, thank you," he stammered. "Er, I mean, thank you, I'll sit, but I'm not hungry," he clarified, sitting down hard.

"Relax, guardsman," I offered. "Are you on duty?"

He shook his head. "No, I've been relieved of duty today." He cleared his throat. "I, er… can I, er…" He stopped, took a breath and said, as though reading from an internal cue card,"Can I offer my congratulations on your ennoblement yesterday?"

I shrugged. "Thank you," I replied perfunctorily.

His eyes glanced around the room, and by his expression, I got the impression that he wanted to be anywhere but here. "Er, when are you leaving for Amaranthine? Do you need to visit the market in preparation?"

I froze for a second, but forced myself to take another mouthful. "Why?"

He flushed red. "I… no reason."

"Just making conversation?"

He nodded frantically. "Yes, Commander."

I sighed, plonking the spoon in my bowl and leaned back. "What? What is it?" I asked, my eyes narrowing.

He made a face. "I'm sorry, Commander. I've been ordered to accompany you today. That is, while you are outside the palace walls."

I grunted, feeling suddenly rather cross. After my recent good mood, it was an unpleasant grounding. "By whom?"

"My commander," he said softly.

I sighed. "And who ordered him?"

"The King."

I closed my eyes and growled under my breath. Blasted Alistair. Hadn't I shown that I could take care of myself? Time and time and bloody time again? "Fine," I snapped, knowing that I shouldn't take it out on someone just following orders. "I do have some business in the marketplace and alienage today, as a matter of fact. Meet me at the gates in an hour, and ditch the shiny armour. Wear something a little less conspicuous."

* * *

><p>At the next ringing of the hour, Thunder and I stepped out into Denerim with our young shadow for the day. I'd garbed my slight frame in a set of drakeskin leathers I'd found in Wade's 'second-hand armour pile'. The powerful magic imbued within more than made them a match for the armour he made from the drake scales we'd collected during our wanderings. Spellweaver was strapped to my back as usual. My distinctive scarlet hair was hidden under my cowl, and my features mildly obscured by a veil.<p>

Pickering had managed to find some reasonable light armour, and had a pair of long daggers strapped to his hips. On his back he carried a light crossbow of considerable quality. Alistair had certainly been good to him.

He was still painfully correct around me though. Halfway from the palace to the marketplace I took pity. "Relax," I told him. "I don't need a servant waiting on me; just act naturally."

He gave me a weak smile. "I'm a gutter rat from Tanner's Lane. Now I'm escorting the most powerful noble in Ferelden around Denerim. It's a little overwhelming."

I chuckled and scratched Thunder's ears. "I know the feeling. Eighteen months ago I was a prisoner in the Circle of Magi. Now, somehow, I ended up someone important."

"But you defeated the Blight," Pickering pointed out. "I just joined the palace guards."

I looked closely at his profile. It didn't look as though he'd started shaving regularly yet. "You showed the ability to think and you're not afraid to challenge authority. That's a pair of talents worth developing."

"Thinking?" he said, his tone disbelieving. "And disobeying?"

I chuckled softly. "You'd be surprised. I've met a lot of people who manage to go through life without actually using their brains. So long as today is pretty much the same as yesterday, they don't care. You notice things going on around you that others miss. And I don't mean disobeying orders. Just questioning the more moronic ones."

He smiled, but it didn't last long. A moment or two later, he whispered, "I did notice something."

"What's that?"

"There's some people following us."

I nodded. "How many?"

"At least four. But there are probably more."

"Good."

That surprised him. "Good?"

I turned to grin at him. "Yup. If they're clumsy enough to be spotted, you don't really need to worry about so few a number."

He frowned lightly. "That… doesn't really make sense."

"We're not far from the market. If they're still following us, we'll deal with them there."

He swallowed. "But what if they try something before we get to the market?"

I shrugged. "Then we won't need to bother dealing with them at the market, will we?"

Pickering looked at me with a shocked expression. "Are you really not bothered by the fact that there are people following us? They might want to kill us!"

"True," I admitted. "We'll give them a splendid funeral if that's the case."

He blinked, apparently still getting up to speed on the Kathryn Surana method of risk management. "Really?"

I shook my head. "Of course not! We'll leave them in a gutter. I can't be arsed dragging them to a Chantry for cremation."

He stared at me, aghast. "Are you serious?"

"Occasionally. Look, we're in the middle of a pretty dense crowd," I started, before some screams and shouts of fright signalled the evaporation of said crowd.

Through the distraction of people running for cover, several armed thugs rushed us. With bystanders still rushing this way and that, they didn't have a straight line to us, which gave me the chance to draw and ready my weapon. I didn't need to use my more destructive magic on such pitiful buggers, especially since we were in the midst of a bunch of innocent onlookers. I was nowhere near defenceless.

Pickering cursed, and snatched his crossbow from over his shoulder. "Drop it!" I hissed. "Use your blades!"

Rather than arguing with me, he dropped the weapon and slid his long daggers out with steely rasps.

I set about parrying and stabbing. It felt quite cathartic to take my frustrations out of some footpads no one would miss. Thunder joined the fray and buried one of the attackers under his considerable bulk.

My escort proved himself quite capable with his knives. He caught a longsword by crossing his blades, then kicked his attacker in the knee. As the thug screamed and fell forward, Pickering raised his own knee sharply, smashing the man's mouth shut and shattering some of his teeth. He then ducked under a wild swing and slashed open another bastard's guts.

"Behind you!" I shouted, conjuring a shard of rock and sending it hurtling into the ribcage of one of the pair sneaking up behind the young guardsman. That one went down puking. Pickering turned and yelped as the second figure slashed down and opened a deep wound across his left arm. The blade in that hand fell from numbed fingers, but he managed to keep a solid grip on the right one. He brought it up and stabbed the man's side, causing crimson blood to fountain from his mouth. Poor Pickering got a face full.

I tossed a bolt of arcane energy at the thug I'd knocked away from Pickering, which silenced him permanently. I took a second to take in the rest of the scene. Two more thugs were approaching from behind us, and another pair from ahead.

They weren't focused on me though. They were looking directly at Pickering.

I didn't know whether to be offended or relieved.

One of the pair behind us was armed with a crossbow. She raised it and took aim at my escort.

I reached into the Fade, drew on its flow and caught the archer in a prison of crushing force. Her sudden shrieks of agony distracted her allies nicely. Her partner skidded to a halt before screaming, "Mage!" He turned to run in terror, but I dropped him with a well placed lightning bolt, burning a hole almost straight through his body.

I turned to face the other pair, only to discover that Thunder had things well in hand. One was lying very still in the middle of the muddy street with less throat than usual. The other was trying in vain to escape an enraged mabari capable of running down a rabbit in flight.

The result wasn't in question, merely the timing.

I turned back to Pickering. He held his injured arm tight against his body, looking pale and sweaty. "You all right?" I asked him.

He kept his mouth clenched tight against the pain, but nodded. His breath was coming in sharp gasps, the distinctive sound magnified by the fact he was drawing them through his nose.

Once I'd confirmed all our attackers were dead or incapacitated, I reached out and gently grasped his wounded arm. "Relax." I cast a field healing spell, washing the wound in azure light. The flesh knitted together under my direction, leaving a thin pink line. "Sorry about that. I just can't seem to get the hang of healing without leaving a scar."

"Maker's breath," he breathed in astonishment. "That's amazing!"

I grunted. "Try it out before you thank me. It wouldn't surprise me if I left something out."

He looked momentarily alarmed. He clenched and flexed his hand and arm, wincing a little at the pain of exercising newly healed tissue. "It feels incredible." He bent over and retrieved his crossbow, checking it for damage.

I nodded. "Good. Now, follow me."

We strode over to the lone survivor and waited. She was still held upright by the mystical prison, but her body was broken. She collapsed bonelessly as the spell ran its course. I crouched down next to her. My magic hadn't been gentle. Her eyes were stained red with burst blood vessels. Her hands and fingers were broken and twisted.

"Recognise her?" I asked tonelessly.

Pickering swallowed, but shook his head. "No. I've never seen her before. She looks… Rivani."

The dusky-skinned woman raised her head from the muddy road. She opened her mouth but had no breath to speak. Her teeth were rimmed with blood and bile. With a rattling cough, her eyes glazed and she lay still.

Looting the bodies gave no clue as to why they attacked us, beyond the fact that they each had a purse of fifteen silvers. Such an amount would tempt only the most desperate person into attempting the life of a mage. But it was a princely sum for the head of an inexperienced guardsman.

"Come on. Let's get going," I said shortly. If my escort was in danger, I needed to get him out of sight as soon as possible.

Pickering hesitated. "We can't just leave them," he said.

"We can, and we will. Come on," I insisted.

"But," he said, trotting along behind me.

"We'll tell the city guard stationed in the market district, but we've got better things to do than mind a bunch of corpses."

In the market, Kylon noticed our approach and gave a nod. His expression turned to one of exasperation as he spotted the bloodstains on our armour. "Maker's breath, again? How many suicidal idiots do we have in this city?"

"Several less than yesterday," I quipped. "We were jumped on Aliwal road. You mind sorting it out?"

He grumbled, but nodded. With a resigned gesture, he motioned his two companions to head off towards the scene of the crime. "I don't know whether to be pleased you're thinning the ranks of the criminal element in the city or upset that you're generating me more paperwork. Don't take this the wrong way, Warden-Commander, but I think I'm going to be quite relieved to see you leave my city."

* * *

><p>The alienage was still relatively empty, given the recent unpleasantness. Slavery had culled their numbers, as had the riots. Oddly, the Blight had had only a minor impact on the population here. The elves had fared better against the darkspawn than all the humans, because they stayed in and defended their homes rather than run for help.<p>

Still, even with the laws Alistair and Anora had passed, the elves were not fully trusting of humans. Pickering got more than a few dirty looks as we strolled down the muddy street.

"I don't think I'm really welcome here," he said, glancing around at the hard stares.

"It's not you," I replied.

He didn't look convinced. "You sure?"

"Pretty sure," I said with a smile. "It's the blood on your face and armour they're worried about."

"The…" he started, before rubbing at the dried red stain on his cheek.

"Don't worry about it. We can wash it off when we get to where we're going."

He swallowed audibly and nodded, but didn't ask for more information. I found that quite interesting in such an inexperienced guard.

A small group of elves walked towards us down the centre of the crooked little lane that formed the alienage's main thoroughfare. A familiar face led them.

"Shianni," I said with a smile and a nod.

"Cousin," the flame-haired elf replied.

Pickering drew a sharp breath. "Cousin?" he whispered.

I glanced at him. "We're second cousins, or something. The templars took me from this alienage. Look at us. We have the same hair." I turned back to Shianni. "It's nice to see you again."

"I'll ask if you're bringing trouble here - again - before I say the same," she replied with a tight smile.

I gave a laugh and stepped forward to embrace her. She returned my hug. "I need to ask you a favour, if you don't mind?"

Shianni nodded. "Of course. We owe you so many favours it's hard to keep track. Come inside. You can tell me what you want, and your shemlen friend can clean himself up." She looked down at Thunder and scowled. "Are you going to ransack my larder again?" she demanded.

Thunder tilted his head to one side, and gave her a whine of questionable innocence.

"I know it was you! You left muddy footprints everywhere!"

Thunder drooped his head to one side, and covered his eyes with a paw.

She threw her hands up in the air. "Don't give me that! If I let you inside, will you behave?"

Thunder immediately sat bolt upright on his haunches and barked an affirmative.

"Fine," she grumbled. "You can come in, but keep your snout out of my cupboards, you hear?"

Another bark, and Thunder bounded forward with tail wagging, leading us to Shianni's small home.

* * *

><p>Shianni and I sat down at the small table in the middle of the main room. It was only really made for one person, and a small one at that. Pickering stood in the corner of the room with a bucket and a small scrap of hessian our hostess had given him. He looked decidedly uncomfortable with his shirt off in the presence of two females, but he was quite adamant that he needed to clean up.<p>

"Have any Dalish visited recently?" I asked Shianni. "I know Lanaya's First said he would send some apprentices to each Fereldan alienage regularly to check for signs of magical children."

She nodded. "A pair visited a couple of months ago. They are overdue for another visit. Why?"

I withdrew Alistair's missive. "I have a letter and a proposal for Lanaya. But I couldn't find her clan when I was in the south last week. Could you hold onto it until the next time the Dalish visit? I can't wait around that long."

Shianni made no move to take the parchment. "What exactly is the proposal?"

"An alliance of sorts. Distrust between humans and elves runs deep, but the Blight forged some bonds of camaraderie. I want to strengthen them. It's an offer for volunteers from the clans to come and work with Alistair's army for a time, and a hope that some of his archers will be permitted to live with the Dalish at the same time."

"You think the clansmen would want to spend time with the shemlen? Or that they'd accept shemlen living among them?"

I shrugged. "I hope some of them will. A few to start with, but eventually I'd like to see a few dozen at a time."

She did not look convinced. "From what I know, most of the clans will think that it's a plot to infiltrate them. Even coming from me, they won't consider it favourably."

I winced. The Dalish had not been pleased to see how city elves were treated, but they still considered their city brethren to be little better than the shemlen they lived among. "I suppose. I just hope that at least one clan allows a couple of human archers to live with them and learn their art. If we start small then we can build up trust over time."

With a sigh, my cousin reached out and accepted the package of papers. "Fine. I'll hold onto them until the next visit. But don't be optimistic."

"Eamon has a copy and more information, if the Dalish need to speak with him." I looked over at Pickering, who was struggling back into his armour. "Are you ready to head back to the palace? I've got a busy day tomorrow."

* * *

><p>The trip north from Denerim was not particularly arduous. Beyond the fact that I was on foot, it had been little more than a pleasant trip in a nice part of the year. Of course, being in the same travelling party as the King made it a bit safer than usual. However, it was slow going, and I felt uncomfortably restricted by the column of soldiers. Two days march out from Vigil's Keep, I bid Alistair farewell, walked out of sight of the camp, and shifted into a form more suitable for travelling.<p>

Thunder and I raced the remaining leagues away in less than half the time. With the addition of a few spells and some mabari and mouse fur to the inside of my archdemon-scale, I could incorporate the armour into all my forms. So running as a mabari for hours on a nice sunny day meant that I ended up at my destination, once transformed back into an elf, fully armed and armoured, yet with fresh feet.

I could always direct some minor healing energies at my extremities, but not having to do so was a wonderful relief.

Travelling so light meant that I was always ready for a fight.

A fortuitous circumstance, as it happened.

* * *

><p>Thunder and I crested a hill and spotted a lone figure on the next rise a half mile or so down the road. She was wearing armour and was armed with sword and shield, but her helmet lay on the grass beside her, next to a water-skin and a small travelling pack. Her partially braided hair was dark and her skin lightly tanned. Had Eamon not told me she had been sent north, I'd not have recognised her.<p>

We ran on, down the shallow depression and back up the other hill, closer to her.

Mhairi looked little different. Her armour was of a much higher quality than the last time I'd seen her, as was her sword and shield. She sat on a tree stump about twenty yards off the main road, her long legs straight out and crossed at the ankles. She had tilted her head in curiosity at our approach.

Thunder trotted up to her, wagging his stubby tail. "Hello boy," she said, holding her hand out to be sniffed. "Aren't you the Warden-Commander's mabari? Where is she? And who is your friend?"

I shimmered into my own form. "I'm here."

She gasped, and leapt to her feet so abruptly that she almost fell over the other way. "Warden-Commander! Forgive me!"

I raised an eyebrow. "For what?"

She actually blushed. "I, er, I should have been at attention to wait for you."

I barked an amused laugh. "Right. How long have you been waiting?"

"Er," she stammered. "I came down yesterday and again this morning to greet you."

"You'd really have stood at attention for hours waiting for me to show up? I don't expect that, you know."

She gave me a tentative smile. "I… I wasn't sure what to expect, honestly. I'm here to escort you and your, ah, escort to Vigil's keep. Where are they?"

I sighed while shifting my armour around to a more comfortable position. One of the things about changing form while in armour was that it never quite sat right when you changed back. "About a day behind me. I left them this morning. I was sick of the fuss of travelling with them. They just slowed me down," I replied. "How far is it to the Keep from here?"

She pointed into the distance. "A little more than a mile, Commander. You can just make out the walls from here."

My elven eyes could do more than 'just make out' the walls. Even from this distance, they were clear of men. "Shouldn't there be patrols on the walls at least?"

She frowned at me. "There were when I left this morning."

I glanced up at the sun. It was only an hour or so to dusk. "Well, lets go then. I want a bath and a hot meal."

"Yes, Commander."

It did not take us long to reach the Keep. As we drew closer it became terribly apparent that something was wrong. I sensed the oily prickling of nearby darkspawn.

A screaming man ran out of the gate towards us, terrified of the darkspawn behind him. I barked an order to stand firm, and then went to work. While I was pleased that the man stood with me, he was not going to be on my list of potential recruits.

Thunder, as ever, was a joy to have. Individual darkspawn, whether hurlock or genlock, fell to a single snap of his mighty jaws. The four of us slaughtered the unholy creatures, both in the fields and inside the gates. In all honesty, it felt great to let loose with my powers after all the frustration with the Chantry over the past few weeks.

Darkspawn are great whacking posts.

We cleared and secured the outer keep, assisting the survivors. I left the nameless man to rally the remaining guards in the courtyard before venturing inside with Thunder and Mhairi. The fact that darkspawn were inside a fortified Keep manned by Grey Wardens was astonishing, and maybe even terrifying if I took the time to think about it. Where had they come from, and how had they taken the Wardens by surprise.

Philosophical questions would have to wait until later, I decided, as I hacked, slashed and butchered my way through the blighted monsters. With gritted teeth, we moved through the Keep.

* * *

><p>Sounds of combat echoed behind a sturdy wooden door. Inhuman screams, gurgles, flashes of power.<p>

I kicked the door open and rushed through, with Thunder and Mhairi right on my heels. The knight almost bowled me over as I skidded to a stop. Instead of the mass of darkspawn I'd sensed just moments ago, a lone mage was quite competently - and cheerfully - incinerating the lone living hurlock in the room. As his burst of fire ended, he turned his back on the pile of corpses, casually shaking the final remnants of heat from his hands and giving the tips of his fingers a satisfied blow. He jumped slightly as he noticed that he was not alone in the room, his eyes tightening with tension. He half turned back to the pile of corpses, as though embarrassed about being found in the vicinity.

"Er… I didn't do it," he offered with a feeble shrug, trying to give the impression that he just happened to be standing near a merrily burning hurlock, and that he was completely uninvolved with the recent unpleasantness; indeed, that he had no idea how such a thing had happened. His success was limited.

I leaned slightly to one side to see past him. Besides the hurlock that was rapidly turning to oily charcoal, there were several other bodies lying there, both tainted and armoured. The armoured bodies wore familiar purple kilts.

I raised an eyebrow, looking him over. Despite the recent battle, he was completely uninjured, which spoke rather well of his abilities. His robes were of an odd, Tevinter style, with feathers featuring prominently around his shoulders and gold highlights running from around his neck down his chest. Leather bracers covered his forearms from wrist to elbow, and two diagonal belts crisscrossed his waist for no appreciable reason I could fathom. Tall and broad of shoulder, his hair was tied back in a simple tail, eerily similar to Duncan's. He had an earring in one ear and golden circlets around his biceps. His very tightly defined biceps. This was no scholar-mage, this was a man used to using his muscles as well as his magic.

As I looked him over, recognition lit up on his features, and he seemed glad to have something to talk of rather than the dead bodies behind him. "Hey, I recognise you from the Circle!" He frowned. "What are you doing wearing all that armour? How in the Maker's name can you cast spells when you've got all that weight around you?"

"It's a skill," I replied, still looking him over. He certainly looked familiar, but I didn't think I knew him personally. In fact, he looked rather like someone else I knew. "Sorry, who are you?"

"You don't remember me? I certainly remember you, _Kathryn Surana_. You were the only other mage I heard of who could infuriate Greagoir as much as I could."

Thunder made a half-whine that sounded like disbelief.

I scratched his ears and shook my head, examining the mage's features closely. "Sorry, no. You weren't in any of my classes."

His shoulders slumped slightly. "Well, no, that's true, I was a few years ahead of you. But I rather hoped that I was more memorable than that." Suddenly, he brightened. His moods seemed to change like the wind. "Although, that may not be so surprising. While I am a Harrowed mage of the Circle, I only resided there occasionally. In between my jaunts out into the wonderful wide world of Ferelden, that is."

Ah, now that story sounded familiar. "Oh, you're the mage that kept escaping!" I said with a grin and a nod. "Well done, that man!"

He suddenly looked very pleased. "Aha! Not a Loyalist, I see. How very refreshing. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Anders, mage and wanted apostate," he said with pride.

Mhairi gasped. "An apostate? At Vigil's Keep?"

He gave her a smile, perhaps hoping that it was charming, but in the circumstances looked mildly lecherous. "You weren't here when we arrived. I'm sure I would have remembered such a lovely woman as yourself."

I frowned, not at the flirting, but at his name. "Anders? Really? That's what you're calling yourself?"

He looked affronted. "What's wrong with Anders?"

I rolled my eyes. "All right then, you can call me _Fereldan_." I gestured over my shoulder at the speechless Mhairi. "This is _Fereldan _too, though it might get a tad confusing. Especially if we add any more locals to our group. And when we finally track down the other Grey Wardens who were supposed to be here, they're all called _Orlesian_." I paused. "Though I suppose they'd be used to that name by now, what with being in Ferelden for more than a couple of minutes."

Anders broke into a huge grin. "Oh my, you are a woman after my own heart. As to my chosen moniker, my mother's family is from Anderfels, thus," he gestured to himself grandly. "_Anders_."

I rolled my eyes. "Well then, what did Greagoir call you?" I asked. Greagoir wouldn't muck about with nicknames.

He tilted his head to one side, thinking. "Well, let's see. _Disgusting criminal. Talentless waste of flesh. Idiotic bastard. Wanted apostate. Throw him in the dungeon_… no wait, that last one wasn't really directed at me."

I gave him a fake scowl. "Fine. What did Irving call you?" I asked, not really expecting an enlightening answer.

His smirk broadened. "_My dear boy_, generally. Though depending on the instance, he did say it with varying degrees of disappointment."

I laughed aloud. "Ah, yes, that sounds familiar. He still tries using guilt like a mace. Fine, if you don't want to tell me, Anders it is. But if you're an apostate, why are you here at the Keep? It belongs to the Grey Wardens. Are you a volunteer, or a recruit?"

"Goodness no, dear lady." He shrugged his shoulders. "These templars caught up to me on my most recent extra-Circle excursion, that's all. They were escorting me back to the tower." He nudged one of the templar corpses with a toe. "They decided to impose upon the seneschal's hospitality this evening, rather than spend a night camping in the cold. Exceptional timing, I must say; what with the darkspawn attack and all."

Mhairi finally found her voice, disgust evident in her tone. "What happened to the templars?"

"Oh them?" Anders said, giving the armoured bodies an unconcerned glance. "The darkspawn got them. Oh, don't get me wrong. I'm not broken up about them dying, to be perfectly honest," he said, as if we could have mistaken his attitude for anything else. He gestured at one with his thumb. "Biff there made the most amusing gurgle when he went down."

"Not too fond of them, huh?" I quipped. Biff? There was a templar named _Biff_?

Anders spread his hands as though I had just shared some deep, philosophical secret of the universe. "Oh, I know, I know. Most people enjoy being kicked in the head to be woken up each morning. Me, I'm just so picky."

I gave my head a toss. "Pfft, you got woken with a kick to the head? Luxury!"

Mhairi coughed. "Commander, we cannot remain here. There are still darkspawn roaming the Keep!"

Anders readily agreed. "True. These darkspawn don't leave much time for chit-chat, do they? Well, tell you what. I'll help you and we can discuss what comes later... later, once all these bastards are properly put down, yes?"

Thunder agreed with Anders' realistic outlook with a satisfied bark. He trotted forward and gave the mage a thorough sniff, giving the mage a wag of his stumpy tail in return for scratched ears.

"You are one big puppy," he said admiringly.

I snorted. "Right, let's go and evict these buggers. This is Thunder, it appears that he likes you. This is Mhairi," one glance over my shoulder prompted me to add, "and it appears that she doesn't."

Anders took in Mhairi's expression, and didn't disagree. "Right. Lead the way. I'll be right behind you. Directly behind you, really," he said with a grin and a waggle of eyebrows.

I raised an eyebrow and swept past him. "Just so long as you keep your wits about you."

"Oh, I guarantee I'll be completely focused... on the task at hand."

"Prat," I mock growled, giving Spellweaver a threatening twirl. He just grinned back.

The darkspawn, as usual, were disorganised and chaotic. They seemed to have no purpose beyond killing, and no tactics beyond charging in one wave. Which rather stood out in contrast to the fact that they'd somehow managed to infiltrate a keep full of Grey Wardens.

Unless the Orlesian Wardens had sent incompetents. That was possible, I suppose.

Anders was a welcome addition to our group. His healing skills were _phenomenal_. Easily on a par with Wynne, with the added benefit of him not being a controlling, overbearing old biddy. Any wounds sustained by Mhairi and Thunder were healed within seconds.

And he was very pleasant to look at. That certainly didn't hurt.

After the second skirmish, I'd decided that Anders was going to be a Grey Warden. All I had to do was figure out how to make him think that it was his idea.

* * *

><p>The four of us moved through the Keep like one of Anders' healing spells washing away an infected wound. We butchered darkspawn where ever we found them. But there was very little other resistance to the monstrous invaders.<p>

With one notable exception. A red-haired and -bearded dervish of axe-blade, spittle and curses massacred his way through a group of six darkspawn like a wolf through a herd of drunken sheep, pausing only momentarily to give me a jaunty wave. The darkspawn took the opportunity to howl at the implied insult and charge as a united front, which made the dwarf's mighty cleaves even more effective. With one swing, he chopped a hurlock in two at the waist, and decapitated another on the back swing.

Not wanting to be left out of the fun, I joined in, followed quickly by Thunder, Mhairi and Anders. The rest of the fight didn't go much better. For the darkspawn.

When the last was turned into a gruesome pile of gore on the floor, Oghren leaned over the nearby railing and shouted, "A-ha! There you are! When these darkspawn showed up, I thought, 'just you wait until the new Commander gets here and you'll all be spitting teeth out of your arses!' Followed the screams, and sure enough, here you are. Good on ya!"

Thunder bounded around in a circle, giving excited yips. He bolted up the short flight of stairs towards the dwarf. "Oghren? You're here?" I exclaimed with a smile.

"Doubting your eyes, huh? I get like that, after the fifth bottle or so. Came here thinking I might try my hand at becoming a bona fide Grey Warden." He attempted to push Thunder away, unable to prevent the dog from smearing his face with a good layer of sticky slobber. "Get off me you drooling monstrosity!" he shouted. "You lick your own arse! I don't wan't your tongue anywhere near me!"

Well, that explained why he'd left the army, I thought, as he failed to completely fend off Thunder's enthusiastic greeting. The Grey Wardens were possibly the only place he'd get more respect than Ferelden's armed forces. He finally managed to get away from my mabari and moved over to the head of the stairs.

Mhairi cleared her throat, and said softly, "He was here when I left. I can't believe the Wardens didn't kick him out."

I blinked and turned to her, wondering how she'd missed the inclusion of a drunken dwarf berserker in all those tales of Alistair the Great she'd devoured. Oghren however, beat me to the punch.

"Hey! If it isn't the recruit with the great rack!" he said, leaning casually against a support pillar. The scene looked rather surreal; a redolent figure in blood-speckled armour.

Mhairi sighed. "Yes. A prize for the Wardens, to be sure."

Oghren, as usual, was completely un-offendable. "I know, I know, too good to be true, right? Hey... who's the mage? Boyfriend? Should I leave you two alone?" he leered, though I wasn't sure if he meant me or Mhairi.

Anders spoke up for the first time. "Wow. A dwarf that smells like a brewery. You never see that anywhere," he said laconically.

"Huh. A mage comedian. Thought those normally died young."

You know, the way Anders and Oghren half-smiled as they insulted each other signalled that they would probably either be great friends or they'd end up killing each other. My money was on both. "It's good to see you again," I said honestly with a broad smile.

Anders whipped his head around to stare at me, astonished. "I find that hard to believe."

"As do I," Mhairi agreed fervently.

I mentally shrugged. To tell the truth, I'd felt similarly when Oghren had invited himself along on our expedition to find Branka and the Anvil. They'd change their minds soon enough, after he had casually hacked apart unholy terrors that were trying to claw their faces off. As usual, Oghren got to the point. "Now let's go introduce some darkspawn arses to my foot. Only polite thing to do."

I flicked tainted blood off Spellweaver. "Since when do you ever worry about being polite?"

He gave me an imperious leer. "Manners are like arses. Everyone's got 'em, some smell nicer than others, but they're only useful in certain situations."

Anders coughed, covering a laugh. "That sounded almost profound. Who did you steal that line from?"

He gave a gravelly laugh. "My wife, from back when she was first made a Paragon and given her own house. She had to act all smarmy with them deshyrs, but she had their number all right."

Anders gave a slow blink. "Sorry, a Paragon? You mean like... a living dwarf god? Your wife is one?"

"Aye. Well, she was. She's gone now," he said abruptly, his heavy-lidded eyes suddenly flashing dangerously. "Come on, I feel like killing some darkspawn."

* * *

><p>With the addition of Oghren to our group, it would have taken an army of darkspawn to stand against us. We marched through corridor after corridor, room after room, smashing and squishing darkspawn with ease. I'd fought with both Oghren and Thunder all the way up Fort Drakon, and then against the archdemon. I knew how they worked, and likewise, they knew when to let me unleash my magic. We fought as a unit, far more effective together than individually.<p>

I noted a definite increase in Mhairi and Anders' competency, as they learned to adjust their techniques to fit their roles. Anders started using certain spells more often and with greater efficiency, and Mhairi learned to move with Oghren, to avoid his wild strikes and take advantage of the destruction of darkspawn defences.

Eventually, with the inner Keep retaken, we skirted the battlements, where I could feel the last powerful darkspawn hiding. Just as we arrived it casually shoved a soldier off the battlements, before turning back to face a lone prisoner. It turned out to be a hurlock, its face painted like an Orlesian prostitute. But the most astonishing thing was, it spoke.

Now, I'd seen darkspawn shriek and yell. Emissaries were quite capable of hurling non-verbal insults and threats that were quite understandable, if only due to the vivid hand gestures that inevitably went along with them. But they did not speak.

This one did. It even questioned its prisoner.

Surprised the hell out of me.

A greying man in well-used armour defied his captors, insulting them and challenging them to kill him. I petrified the darkspawn holding the blade to his throat, allowing him to escape uninjured. Once he was clear, Anders and I bombarded the unholy group of monsters with elements and entropic curses.

The chatty one took a bit of killing, to Oghren's surprise and satisfaction. It wasn't often that he got to trade unrestrained blows with someone capable of shrugging off his usual efforts. He took the hurlock's best shots without flinching, and returned the favour with interest. As it was, the fight went as expected, with the painted darkspawn ending the fight a foot shorter (well, a head really) than he started.

Once the excitement had calmed, I walked over to the remains. I nudged the decapitated head with my armoured boot until it was, well, _facing_ up. "Ugly bastard," I said to no one in particular."

"Such a judgemental soul you are," Anders chided mockingly. "He might be considered handsome by the all the lady darkspawn in the deep tunnels. That paint on his face might be the height of fashion among them. Maybe he's got a rotting wife, and six or seven decomposing kids waiting for him down in some dingy hole somewhere. You never know."

I glanced up at him and grinned at his banter. "You've never seen a 'lady darkspawn' I take it?"

He blinked, and shook his head. "No, I honestly can't say that I have. Well, that I know of. Maybe they look just like the men. I don't know."

Oghren and I shared a look. "You'd know," we said in unison.

He raised an eyebrow at our dual response. "I must point out that I have no real desire to, either."

"Yeah, hold onto that thought," Oghren supplied, casually wiping his axe blade on the tunic of a dismembered darkspawn. "This one's a prize catch compared to them."

I grunted. "That and they don't really get to the surface."

Anders scratched at his ear, looking thoughtful. "I suddenly have an uncontrollable desire never to venture underground."

"A pity," I murmured. "There's a lot of beauty down there. The Deep Roads are a magnificent sight. Until you've walked down them for time enough to respect their sheer scale, you haven't seen true engineering."

Anders gave me a sceptical look, but Oghren guffawed. "Aye. They piss on what you call roads up here on the surface."

I clicked my tongue at him. "They also have dozens of darkspawn jumping out and ambushing you from every corner."

Anders and Mhairi shared a look as Oghren scratched at his beard plaits with one blood-smeared hand, appearing to consider the point. "That's true. No such thing as a dull trip in the Deep Roads. Ya gotta admit that."

I knelt and looted the bodies, a habit I no longer thought about but which surprised Anders and offended Mhairi. "Is that truly necessary, Commander?"

"You'd be surprised," I replied easily. The talking darkspawn had quite impressive equipment, including a sword that wouldn't have been out of place in a teyrn's personal armoury. No written notes, however. Were these darkspawn with speech ability literate as well? That would not be good.

The grey-haired chap rose from his feet onto wobbly legs. "I… I thank you, Commander. Your timing was impeccable."

I gave him a level look and gestured with my hand towards the shattered keep. "Really? I'd say I was at least a day too late."

He closed his eyes. "A poor choice of words on my part. I thank you for your intervention. You saved my life. If I can be of any assistance whatsoever..."

With a nod, I said, "Right, well, as you were. I've got to get things in order. Maybe someone who knows what's going on survived."

Mhairi cleared her throat. "If I may Commander, allow me to introduce you. This is Varel, seneschal of Vigil's Keep. He sent me to meet you."

"Ah," I said, for want of anything else to say. "I suppose you can help me then."

"Indeed, Commander," Varel responded, bowing. "How may I assist you?"

I gestured for him to follow me. "Walk and talk. We'll do a full survey of the Keep and see who survived, and you can get me up to speed."

* * *

><p>I sighed deeply as we stepped out into the early dawn. The Keep was secured and the survivors counted, though we still needed to assess and scour out all the remaining houses and outbuildings within the walls before I would be comfortable in finally claiming victory.<p>

Anders looked rather haggard, but bore the stress of a sleepless night well. Varel looked even more weary, but his military discipline meant that he didn't show it so readily. Mhairi looked tired too, her shoulders slumped and her shield held low. Oghren looked a little worse for wear, but that may just be because he hadn't had a drink in the last quarter hour. He gave a gravelly sigh himself. "I'll never get used to the sunrise. Bloody amazing sight."

I nodded in complete agreement. "Aye," I said, unconsciously lapsing into his own dialect. "It's amazing." We simply stood there, smiling ever more brightly, as the first rays of the morning warmed our faces and cleansed our souls of the taint we'd just waded through. An unconscious smile grew on my face in the golden morning light.

Anders frowned as he looked at me. "Aren't you tired? We've been fighting all night. You look like you've just woken up."

I shrugged. "Grey Wardens are a little more hardy than most," I said, subtly promoting a benefit of joining. "We can go all night," I finished with a suggestive wink.

"Really," he leered, latching onto my less-than-subtle double entendre. "I like the sound of that."

I concealed a smile. My lure was baited. Unfortunately, Oghren also picked up on it.

"Hur, hur. Maybe you ought to try a dwarf sometime. We can go all week."

Anders grinned at Oghren, raised a hand and let a crackle of magic flicker over his fingers before unleashing a burst of azure magic over our group. Everyone stood a little straighter and sighed at the sensation. "Rejuvenation spells. Mages can go indefinitely."

Mhairi sighed at the dick-waving. Her own eyes were still slightly puffy with weariness, but she raised an arm and pointed. "Commander? There are men approaching Vigil's Keep."

I turned away from the sun and looked out the open gate. Indeed, a familiar dozen or so men and women marched in two lines towards the Keep. The vanguard of Alistair's escort had finally caught up. The man leading the right hand column was garbed in burnished silverite armour of a quality several steps above that of his companions.

Thunder gave a "Whuff!" of excitement and bounded off, his claws throwing up huge clods of moist earth. Well, there was no doubting who was at the gate now.

"Does your mabari always to that?" Anders asked.

"When he knows the person, usually," I replied. "Or when he wants to kill someone without me interrupting him. I once let him keep the loot from the darkspawn he killed. He grasped the concept that coins could be turned into doggie treats remarkably quickly. It was days before I had to fight again."

Oghren looked up at me, deeply curious. "Huh?"

I shrugged. "A couple of months ago I was travelling to Highever with Fergus and Aedan Cousland. Apart from one big group early in the trip, we ran into lots of small groups of darkspawn; small enough that Thunder and Shadow, that's Aedan's mabari, could take them out themselves. All the loot from those little groups of darkspawn went to buying treats for the dogs."

"So, that fur-covered, smelly shit-factory of yours gets a share of my loot now? Sod that!"

Mhairi growled slightly. "You call a dog a smelly?" she muttered under her breath.

I chuckled. "Never mind. Come on, let's go and greet our visitors."

We met at the gates, one group bloody and battle-weary, the other glistening in polished armour and looking astonished at our appearance. Plus one enormous dog, occasionally bouncing around in a circle, wagging his stubby tail and looking up at the King happily.

"It looks like I arrived a bit late. Too bad. I rather miss the whole darkspawn-killing thing," Alistair said, taking off his helmet and looking around at the dead bodies in the courtyard.

Mhairi gasped, "King Alistair!" and sank to one knee in pious veneration. Bemusedly, Varel also genuflected. Oghren, Anders and I remained on our feet.

"I'd wanted to come and give the Wardens a formal welcome," he continued, fending off Thunder's nuzzling by the simple expedient of scratching his ears. It would take a dozen ogres to move my dog away from someone willing to scratch him there. "I certainly wasn't expecting this. What's the situation?"

I rubbed my jaw, noting that there was still blood on my face. "We've killed the darkspawn in the Keep itself, but there are some stragglers about, somewhere nearby. The Orlesian Wardens are either dead or... missing."

Alistair's eyes widened. "Missing? As in taken by the darkspawn? Do they even do that?"

"They do for one reason we know of," I said darkly. "And I'll hunt down every last one to prevent that from happening."

Varel cleared his throat. "I have conducted a brief census. We cannot account for all the Wardens, your Majesty."

He nodded sombrely. "I see. And are you all right, Kat? You weren't hurt in the battle, were you?"

I tilted my head to one side. "What's wrong with your eyes? Do I look hurt to you?"

He grinned. "That's the Kathryn Surana I remember!"

I raised an eyebrow. "You'd forgotten?" I asked, putting a dangerous edge in my voice.

He chuckled. "Scrubbed from my memory, more like."

I snorted in amusement. "And that's the Alistair Theirin I remember." I crooked my finger at Alistair while the rest of those in earshot gaped at me like a goldfish. I moved off to one side, away from prying ears; Alistair followed a few steps behind. "We have a problem," I said without jest.

"You mean, besides the darkspawn attacking and killing all bar one Grey Warden in Amaranthine?"

The fact I didn't smile at his quip washed away his mirth. "The darkspawn leader of the attack on the Keep - it spoke," I said urgently but in low tones.

He leaned forward. "Sorry? Did you just say...?"

I hissed out, "The damned thing spoke, Alistair. Not well, but coherently. The darkspawn have always been cunning, but now they're becoming sentient!"

His eyes suddenly lit with realisation. "Oh, shit!"

I nodded. "Exactly. Facing them ten-, twenty-, even a hundred-to-one isn't impossible when their tactics consist of forming one front and charging. Facing them even at five-to-one when they can give and take orders... well, that's nightmare material."

"We need to talk to Weisshaupt. Like, right now."

I shook my head. "No. You need to. I can't waste a single man as a messenger. I need you to send a missive to Heinrich, Helmet, and every other Commander in Thedas too, and let them know that we've found darkspawn who bloody well talk in Ferelden. Tell them that I need to know everything, and I mean, _everything _they know about them. Observations, theories, histories, rumours, everything! Don't let them fob you off with any excuses about secrets either!"

He backed away a half step, holding his hands up against my vehemence. "I get it, Kat. Everything. I understand. I'll get right on it."

I sighed, but nodded. I turned and made my way back towards the group at the gates, him at my heels. "Thank you. I just..." I let my shoulders slump. "This could go pear-shaped very quickly."

We moved back to where everyone else was watching us with interest. "Pear-shaped? What's so special about pears? Banana-shaped, now that's bad. Pineapple shaped, I shudder to think."

I rolled my eyes. "Wonderful. I'm baring my soul and you're discussing the etymology of metaphors."

He grinned at me. "It's a gift. What can I say?" He sobered before continuing. "You have quite the task ahead of you. Really, I'd like to help you fight darkspawn, but you're on your own for the moment."

Oghren all but exploded at that. "Hey! What am I? Chopped nug livers?"

"From the smell, that's not a bad guess," retorted Anders. I couldn't help but smile. The pair were shaping up to be just as amusing as Alistair and Morrigan.

Oghren grunted and said, "I came here to join the Grey Wardens, and from the looks of it, you could use the extra hands! Where's the giant cup? I'll gargle and spit!"

I rolled my eyes, discovering that Alistair had done exactly the same. "You're not allowed to spit," I said pointedly, hoping he wasn't about to start spouting Warden secrets he wasn't supposed to know. The words were hardly out of my mouth when I just knew what rejoinder Oghren was going to come out with.

"Heh. That's what I always say..."

Yep. Saw that one coming.

Mhairi looked unsure, but seemed to understand the dire situation. "I... suppose all are welcome, in this dire time." Well, that was about as much of a vote of confidence that I was going to get from her.

Anders nodded at the dwarf. "Joining the Wardens, hey? Well good luck with that."

A female human in templar armour burst forward from the rear of Alistair's retinue. "King Alistair! Your Majesty, beware! This man is a dangerous criminal!"

Alistair looked taken aback at her outburst, and opened his mouth to reply. However, I beat him to the punch. I tucked my helmet under my arm, puffed up what little chest I'd been blessed with, and spat back, "Who are you calling a man?" If some templar was going to publicly call me a dangerous criminal, then damn it, they were going to have to at least get my bloody gender right.

Judging by the silence that followed, my outburst seemed to confused a great many people. The templar for starters, but also Alistair and Anders too. "Um, she means me," Anders said, sounding as though he were explaining a complex theory to a child.

I looked him over. "Really? I thought you were just an escapee. What did you do that was so dangerous?"

"This," the templar said heatedly, glaring at me, "is an apostate who we were in the process of bringing back to the Circle to face justice!"

"Oh, please. The things you people know about justice would fit into a thimble. I'll just escape again, anyhow," Anders said with resigned acceptance.

"Never!" the templar spat. "I will see you hanged for what you've done here, murderer!"

Anders and I both shouted, "Murderer?" in unison. We exchanged glances, and he gestured a deferral for me to go first. "Who exactly do you think he murdered?" I demanded of the templar.

She looked between Anders and myself, fury etched on her features. "The templars who were charged with returning him to the Circle!" she shouted. "If they still lived, they would not allow him to wander around unescorted!"

I raised a hand and pointed towards the Keep. At the same time, I leaned forward, putting an expression on my face that reflected my thoughts about the idiocy of that statement. "We just had a night-long, running battle against several score of darkspawn. They somehow invaded Vigil's Keep, and slaughtered their way through the defenders therein. Less than one in ten of the people here yesterday still live, and your immediate conclusion, on seeing a free mage, is to assume that _he _killed his templar escort?" She blinked a few times and glanced at Alistair for support, but I continued before he could interrupt. "Did you get smacked around the head a lot as a child?"

"What? No!"

"Do you habitually sniff concentrated deathroot extract?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Is your lyrium mixed with Soulrot?"

Her mouth dropped open, and she looked to be on the verge of bursting a vein.

"Odd. I didn't think the templars would induct someone so monumentally stupid as to require the letters 'L' and 'R' stencilled on their boots and gloves, yet they manifestly do so," I said, waving both my hands up and down her frame.

"Kat," Alistair said warningly. "Ser Rylock is merely performing her duty as she sees fit. And please keep quiet abo-"

"She's an idiot, Alistair," I interrupted sternly, ignoring the gibbering templar. "And giving idiots the power of life and death over people who can't fight back is barbaric."

"It doesn't matter!" Rylock screamed. "He is an apostate, and he will be hanged for his crimes!"

I waved at her again, still addressing Alistair. "See? She'd prefer to stamp her feet and execute an innocent man rather than entertain the notion that she's wrong," I said, glossing over the fact that, for all I knew, she may actually have been right.

Alistair gave me a pointed look. "Well, there is one way this could be resolved, yes _Commander_?"

I snarled at him. I wanted to manoeuvre Anders into a situation where he would make the choice himself, not have it thrust upon him. Someone who habitually escaped incarceration would have no difficulty in running away from the Wardens if he felt trapped. But, needs must. I couldn't have such a skilled healer removed from my side. "Indeed. I hereby conscript this mage into the Grey Wardens."

Rylock gasped, seeing her bloodsport slipping away. "What? Never!"

"I believe the Grey Wardens still retain the Right of Conscription, no? I will allow it."

My eyes bulged. "You will allow it?" I hissed at him. "Allow?"

He winced at his unconsidered words, and gave me an apologetic shrug.

Rylock however, had slumped in apparent defeat. "If... if your Majesty feels it is best..."

I snapped my eyes to her, looking at her body language. If I was any judge, the meek acceptance was just an act.

Oghren gave a bark of laughter. "Ha! Way to go, kid! Welcome aboard!" he shouted, giving Anders a hearty slap on the kidney; Anders was quite tall after all, especially compared to Oghren. His shoulder was out of the dwarf's reach.

Anders winced a bit at the blow, but looked a bit bemused at the turn of events. "Me? A Grey Warden? I guess that will work..."

Mhairi actually looked pleased. I suppose getting your wounds healed so quickly and painlessly would change all but the most stubborn person's opinion. "Congratulations, ser mage. I look forward to fighting at your side."

Alistair nodded. "Then if you have everything under control, I will need to take my leave."

Varel stepped forward. "I believe the estate has been secured, yes. We have suffered great losses, but the darkspawn are gone and there are survivors." He glanced at Alistair's questioning expression. "Oh... excuse my manners, your Majesty. I am Varel, seneschal of Vigil's Keep. I will aid the Commander in ruling the lands of Amaranthine."

Ugh, this again. "This arling belongs to the Wardens, not me," I said firmly. Alistair sighed and let his shoulders droop at the prospect of having the same argument with me again.

Varel took this in his stride. "But as Commander of the Grey you are the equivalent of our arlessa, as well."

I sighed, just accepting it. Arguing publicly with the King wouldn't do my authority any good.

He continued. "Come and speak to me soon. There are many matters to attend to, not the least of which is the Joining. You will need to replenish your numbers." A shiver ran down my back at that. What did the seneschal of a Keep know about the Joining?

Alistair gave me an odd look. "I wish I didn't have to drop this all into your lap, Kat. It would be so much more interesting to keep you at court..."

I snorted. "Right! Up until the time I managed to somehow mortally offended every second noble in the kingdom. And it wouldn't be long before the Hag of the Hill came out of her Cathedral to complain about me three times a day. At that point, I suspect you'd have had as much interest as you could take, and would try and work out how to get me out of town with as little collateral damage as possible."

He chuckled at my answer, but there was a wistful edge to it. "I daresay you're right, but I still miss you." He sighed. "It will be up to you to deal with the vestiges of the Blight before the situation grows out of control. No easy task, but I'm confident you are up to it."

"Have I ever let you down?" I challenged.

"You made me King," he pointed out.

I crossed my arms. "You were the only candidate," I retorted.

He looked to the heavens. "Dear Maker. Just once... please? Just once I'd like to win an argument with her."

o_ooo000ooo_o

AN: Thank you to my reviewers - EF, MB18932, Nightbrainzz, Alifangirl21 and Arsinoe de Blassenville - I can't get enough of them.

Sorry for the delay in this chapter. I needed to get a few incidental things out of the way before we got to Vigil's Keep, and the chapter just kept growing. Hopefully a 14000 word chapter is worth the wait.


	14. Expanding the Grey Warden roster

disclaimer type=standard

Anything you recognise is Bioware's. I daresay anything else belongs to them too.

/disclaimer

o_ooo000ooo_o

Cassandra crossed her arms, her expression hard and her eyes cold. "So, you at least suspected that Anders had a hand in the murder of the templars assigned to escort him back to the Circle."

Kathryn raised an eyebrow. "No, actually, I did not. I still don't. At worst, he could only be accused of not assisting them while they were attacked by darkspawn. And only the most rabid Chantry sycophant could claim that was unjustified."

The Seeker rubbed at her forehead, leaving light-coloured scratches from her gauntlets. As much as the situation galled her, this was not a point upon which she wished to become stuck. "Be that as it may, you still recruited him away from the legal authorities."

"Duncan was recruited out of the hangman's noose, after committing murder. Once I invoked the Right, as was my right, those templars were no longer the 'legal authorities', Cassandra. You know that."

She sighed. "That is true, at least. It was still a decision that wreaked untold devastation across Thedas."

Kathryn shook her head. "No. It wasn't. That decision didn't happen until later."

Cassandra blinked, somewhat surprised at the statement. "What?"

Emerald eyes bored into her own. "Exactly what I said. It wasn't the decision to recruit Anders into the Wardens that led to him destroying the Kirkwall Chantry. Just as it wasn't Duncan's decision to recruit me that led me to invade Orlais. It was Anders' decision to _leave_ the Wardens that led to the Mage-Templar War."

The Seeker paused. To her shame, she had not considered what had caused the murdering mage to leave the protection of the Grey Wardens. She had been focused on the events that had led to his recruitment instead. "What did cause him to leave? Some falling out?"

Kathryn sighed deeply, and the Seeker was shocked to see her eyes glitter with unshed tears. "In a manner of speaking. It was a... mistake of mine. Well, a compound mistake, at any rate."

"Compound? What do you mean by that?"

"I mean," the mage snapped, "that it was a mistake of two parts. I made the first part a day or so after Anders' Joining."

o_ooo000ooo_o

The captain of Alistair's entourage unilaterally decided that His Majesty should not be housed in a Keep where darkspawn were still nearby, so insisted on continuing onto Amaranthine, despite the fact that they had already travelled throughout the night. My old friend shrugged and mouthed 'the man's a tyrant', but accepted his opinion.

I bid farewell to Alistair and his entourage and ventured back into the Keep, my new companions at my side. The sensation of nearby darkspawn still scrapped my nerves raw, which put me in a bad mood.

"Are you a Warden, Varel?" I demanded of the man.

He looked taken aback. "Goodness no, Commander."

"Then tell me why you seem to have some knowledge of our rituals. More than you should."

He lowered his voice. "Kristoff and the other Orlesian Wardens felt that, given the dangers involving the Joining, it would be better to have a Ferelden-born preside over them. There is still a great level of distrust directed towards them for their nationality, you see. Even from the recruits. Kristoff felt that the death of any recruit would cause significant trouble if it had been an Orlesian that offered the cup. As I was known to every volunteer, I was the obvious choice. I would have volunteered myself, had I been twenty years younger."

I grunted, pleased that there was at least a defensible reason for spilling secrets, but still annoyed that it had been done without my approval. "Fine. Let's just get this done. I'll prepare the potion. You get our candidates ready. I want them to Join in this order. Oghren, Anders, and then Mhairi."

He nodded. "As you wish, Commander. Is there any reason for the order of the Joining?"

I looked up at him. "Yes. Oghren already has a resistance to darkspawn taint; he has fought them for years - long before I met him. He's practically a Warden already. Anders is a mage, and I have been reliably informed that mages have a better survival rate." I took a deep breath as memories of my own Joining flooded back. "I just... I want to have those more likely to survive go first."

He frowned. "And young Ser Mhairi last? She has been the very model of competent, loyal efficiency."

I nodded. "I... just have a bad feeling about her." She seemed to be in it for the glory, more than anything else.

He took a deep breath and let it out. "I see. It shall be as you say, Commander. I pray that you are wrong on that last count."

I waved him away, and had a servant lead me through the Keep to my assigned room. I began to gather the necessary ingredients for the ritual. My fingers lingered over the book with the pressed swamp flowers. Should I? Messing about with the recipe could well have unpredictable side effects. The last time I saw him, Avernus said that he would study any flowers I sent to him as a matter of urgency, but I had nothing really to go on until then. He probably didn't even have the samples I'd sent him yet.

I shook my head, it wasn't worth the risk. But there was a risk-free possibility. I gathered some lyrium and my vial of archdemon blood. The supply of fresh darkspawn blood was not an issue. I'd have to do it properly this time. I got out several of Avernus' books.

It took me longer than the recipe expected. I double checked each step, paranoid that I'd poison my very first recruits. Still, I eventually had a full goblet of the hideous concoction. From Avernus' other recipes, I prepared several vials of the other alchemical potion. They needed to be blasted with lightning for a long time before they'd be ready for consumption, however. And I didn't have the time right now.

Lastly, I took a small crucible, filled it with water, and set it to boiling with a sustained flare of fire magic. In it, I placed a single dried, pressed flower. The water slowly grew cloudy as the compounds within the plant leeched into the hot water. After a few minutes, I poured the mixture through a sieve into a cup. There was enough for a half-dozen small mouthfuls.

I took up the goblet of blood and the cup of herbal mixture, and headed down to the main hall. Varel had assembled the three recruits, and was patiently waiting for me to return.

I handed him the goblet, and stood straight. "Tonight, you all become Grey Wardens. The ritual is dangerous, I will not lie. But before we begin, I would invite you all to share a sip of this, for luck." With that, I took a sip of the hot, bitter liquid.

Varel looked shocked, but said nothing as the cup was passed around. He looked even more surprised when I motioned that he should take a sip himself. Once the cup had made a complete circuit, I placed it on the table behind me and said, "There are ritual words that are spoken before each Joining. They have been spoken from the very first."

I nodded to Varel, and drew a deep breath. "Join us, brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be foresworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten. And that one day we shall join you."

Varel stepped forward, goblet extended in his arms, and he spoke formally. "From this moment forth, Oghren, you are a Grey Warden."

Oghren frowned darkly as he accepted the silver goblet. He looked down at it; not at the unholy contents, but at the goblet itself. "What's this, the sampler size? Are you trying to say something about my height? Huh?"

Varel swallowed and took a half step back from the dwarf's palpable anger, glancing at me for support. "Er... this is the goblet we've always used."

"Really? Bleagh!" He raised the goblet to his lips and swallowed easily. He handed it back and gave a resounding belch. Smacking his lips a couple of times as though relishing the taste, he said, "Hmm, not bad," and ever-so-slowly fell over backwards. There was no head wobble or buckling of knees either; he went from on his feet to on his back in one glorious, rigid-bodied sweep, bouncing only slightly on the stone floor.

Varel looked over at me. "Maker help us all."

I shrugged wordlessly, and turned back to look my friend over. His eyes where white, and he was snoring, rather than choking. He'd live. I felt a huge weight vanish from around my heart. With Oghren at my side, I felt I could quite happily take on an archdemon. We'd done it before, after all.

Varel moved a half step over and handed the goblet to Anders, who glanced between dwarf and cup, his eyes wide. "From this moment forth, Anders, you are a Grey Warden."

The healer tilted the goblet slightly and looked down into the contents with horror etched on his face. "So we need to drink darkspawn blood? That's it?"

Varel nodded. "That is it, yes."

With deliberate cheerfulness, the handsome mage said, "Well all right, but if I wake up two weeks from now on a ship bound for Rivain in nothing but my smallclothes and a tattoo on my forehead, I'm blaming you."

I couldn't help but smile at his humour-backed courage. With those words, he raised the cup high, closed his eyes and drank deeply. Varel reached out to grab the goblet before Anders fell, his head wavering slightly. He collapsed backwards with barely a sigh.

"He lives, Commander, and will awaken in time."

I sighed deeply, letting out some more tension. Anders' survival pleased me far more than I showed.

Varel moved over to Mhairi, and handed her the silver goblet. "From this moment forth, Mhairi, you are a Grey Warden."

"I have awaited this moment," she said fervently, drinking quickly and eagerly.

I closed my eyes as she began choking, almost exactly the same way Daveth had. The flower tea hadn't helped her. "Damn," I said under my breath. I was thankful that I had determined the order in which the recruits would Join, but it was a small comfort. I wouldn't wish the events of my Joining upon anyone.

"I am sorry, Mhairi. May the Maker watch over you now," Varel finished, his voice heavy with sadness. Gently, he reached out and closed Mhairi's eyelids, and smoothed her hair.

He rose and turned to face me. "A success, Commander. Two out of three is far better than Kristoff managed."

I nodded, not feeling particularly successful. "Can you please organise a funeral with full honours for Mhairi? She deserves to be remembered for her bravery." At least another body on the pyre wouldn't cause comment. With all the recent deaths, there were many cremations in progress. Even the air inside the Keep was touched by the scent of scorched flesh.

"Of course, Commander."

Varel went to a side door, opened it and gave a few orders to someone on the other side in a low voice. I grabbed a couple of blankets and covered the two newest Wardens. I then grabbed a chair, and began my vigil.

* * *

><p>I sat down at the High Table with Varel, and sighed deeply. It had been a shit of a day.<p>

Disposing of Mhairi's remains had been painful, for all that I found the woman's rigid demeanour mildly annoying. I'd sat with Oghren and Anders as they struggled with the Grey Warden welcome pack of nightmares, nausea and ravenous hunger. Oghren woke first, freaking out like a little girl. Once I explained the concept of 'dreams' to him, he calmed somewhat, and was happy to note that I was the only witness to his momentary loss of control. Anders woke soon after, pale and shaken.

I had run through the checklist of changes they'd have to deal with. Neither had expressed much dismay in their reduced chances of fathering children, at least not when offset by the knowledge that Grey Warden stamina added a whole new meaning to the phrase, 'all night long'. Likewise, neither seemed particularly bothered by their suddenly limited lifespan. Both of them had expected to die long before they grew old, simply due to the dangers of their occupations.

Against the usual Grey Warden protocol, I also laid out what an archdemon was, and how they were killed. By protocol, Junior Grey Wardens were not burdened with that information until they rose to the rank of Warden - the reason Alistair had no clue despite technically being the Senior Warden in Ferelden. But with so few Wardens in Ferelden, I'd decided to ignore that. Oghren had blanched a little as realisation struck. He'd been present when Loghain had jammed his blade under the archdemon's jaw and into its brain. Up until then, he'd assumed that the shockwave from the explosion was responsible for killing the great man.

With the kitchen more or less back in action, I'd stuffed them to bursting with hot food and cold ale, and sent them off to bed.

Now, sitting at a table with my seneschal, I suddenly found myself bone-weary.

"Commander, I realise that it is not the best time, but there are certain people that you need to meet."

I nodded, and started filling my plate. "Can they wait?"

He looked vaguely apologetic. "Ordinarily you would have been introduced before assuming your duties. However, circumstances have prevented this."

I started eating, but nodded my assent.

Varel motioned to a servant, who exited through a side door. A few minutes later, two arguing figures entered the main hall, bickering like siblings. They stopped abruptly at Varel's pointed clearing of the throat, and bowed to me.

Mistress Woolsey was introduced as my treasurer. She had been appointed by the First Warden himself, apparently on the assumption that people who've never had formal education in financial affairs were unable to contain their thieving impulses. As someone who'd robbed the old Arl Howe of a number of silver ingots that he'd embezzled, I was of the opinion that accountancy training merely meant that you could steal with greater efficiency. She took quite some offence when I voiced that view.

Garavel was a guard promoted to Captain early in his career presumably on the basis of availability rather than merit. Howe had stripped the Vigil's garrison of every man personally loyal to him for his military endeavours in Highever, leaving the inexperienced and unproven behind. Garavel had been both, from what I could infer. While he seemed to be out of his depth in his role, there was no doubt he was doing his best. Whether it would be good enough was another problem.

From them I learned that things in Amaranthine were particularly grim. Tax revenues were almost non-existent due to the woeful state of the local economy. A mixture of cessation of trade, rampant banditry and reduced military strength. Without coin to pay for soldiers, bandits were going to be preventing merchants from restocking, which would lower tax revenues even more. Without soldiers, I couldn't protect my lands and the trade routes.

Without those trade routes, there was no way to provision the army. Without an army to keep order, there was no taxes to pay for the provisioning. It was a major headache all round.

Garavel had some leads for me on the darkspawn attacks, and Woolsey some requests of her own. I added them to my rapidly expanding list of stuff that needed to get done.

And my vassals would be arriving shortly to swear allegiance and to make even more demands of me.

Sodding wonderful.

"Anything else?" I asked, exasperation colouring my tone and making me waspish.

Garavel winced. "There is a young man in custody. He broke into the Keep a few nights ago and it took four Wardens to capture and subdue him."

Even through my dark mood, I was impressed. "Four Wardens?"

"Yes, Commander. He has since refused to speak. Should you wish it, I shall take care of the problem."

I shook my head. There had been enough of people 'taking care' of things that were my responsibility. "No, I'll see to him myself. At least there will be something I can accomplish today."

* * *

><p>The lean young man rose to his feet with economy of movement, displaying a similar sort of grace to Aedan, but with a dangerous malevolence more akin to Zevran. Just from watching him stand and take a few steps, I would well believe he could take on four Wardens. He paced like a predator. "If it isn't the great hero, conqueror of the Blight and vanquisher of all evil. Aren't you supposed to be ten feet tall? With lightning bolts shooting out of your eyes?" he asked sarcastically.<p>

"Hands," I clarified. "I shoot lightning from my hands. Attempting to shoot it from your eyes would no doubt result in your eyeballs exploding. As organs, they are ill-suited to channelling the sort of power required."

The man snorted at my response. I almost smiled. That sounded exactly like a sound I'd make. "Somehow I just thought that my father's murderer would be... more impressive."

Ah, I killed his dad. A personal, rather than a ideological hatred then. Well, I could deal with that. I didn't speak, I simply looked him over for any familial clues. His face didn't really strike a chord in my memory, but many men didn't look like their fathers. The air of menace about him was certainly familiar, however. A faint suspicion formed.

Once he realised I wasn't going to answer him, he spat out, "I am Nathaniel Howe. My family owned these lands until you showed up. Do you even remember my father?" he demanded.

I nodded slowly. Now that he mentioned it, he did favour his father in his intensity, even if his features were not as sharp. "Ah, I see. I do, in fact, remember your father, but I'm afraid your information is wrong. It wasn't me who killed him. Well, he didn't die at my hand, if you want to be precise."

He didn't appear to believe me. "Oh? That's not what everyone I've spoken to has said. They all say that the," his voice morphed into a parody of vapid adoration, "Hero of Ferelden," he finished his parody with a glare, "killed Arl Rendon Howe. Did you just claim to have killed him for more adoration then?"

I found myself smiling at his caustic sarcasm. I rather liked it. "No. I was certainly there when he died. But it was Alistair who delivered the mortal blow. He wasn't the King then, of course, but given how popular he is," I tapped the metal bars, "I can't imagine you'd get such luxurious quarters if you tried to assassinate him."

Howe snarled at me, pushing his face close to mine, his breath hot on my face in the chilly stone jail. "My father served the Hero of River Dane and fought against the Orlesians! Yet our family lost everything!"

I leaned closer too and snorted. "Yeah, a lot of people have a similar attitude." I put on a whiny, pinched-nose voice and recited, "My father fought on the winning side, therefore I should get to live a life of luxury." Settling back to my normal, but still awful voice, I continued, "Sorry, but I've met nobles who couldn't find their own dicks with an anatomical chart and an hour's worth of instruction from a dockside whore. The whole entitled attitude based on what dear old daddy did decades ago doesn't impress me."

Rendon Howe's son looked at me for a moment before a small smile touched his lips. He gave a soft sound of agreement. "That I can understand; most of my childhood contemporaries are useless fops, suited only to be ignored." He sighed, reached out and gripped the bars. "I came here... I thought I was going to try to kill you. To lay a trap for you. But then I realised I just wanted to reclaim some of my family's things. It's all I have left."

I stroked my chin and considered the young man for a moment. He seemed to be genuine, but close association with a bard and an assassin tends to make you a touch wary, even when you were already so cynical that it made a Sergeant of the Denerim City Watch appear optimistic in comparison. "Just how much do you know about your father? What he did during the last year and a half of his life, I mean."

Howe looked down at me unconcerned at my question. "If you're asking whether I knew what he was up to, the answer is no. I was squired in the Free Marches. Look, I know you're a hero. You fought a war and you won, and to the victor go the spoils, right? Whatever my father did, however, shouldn't harm my whole family. The Howes are pariahs now, those of us left."

He was about to say more, but I raised a hand to forestall it. "If I were you, I'd find out what my father actually did while you were away. Just a word to the wise."

He shrugged. "Well, it hardly matters now, does it? It's all thanks to you. And now you get to decide my fate. Ironic, isn't it?"

"Do you really hate me so much?" I asked softly.

He didn't answer directly. "The darkspawn are a menace. If it weren't for the Blight, maybe my father would never have... done what he did."

I forbade to comment. If it weren't for the Blight, Howe still would not have come close to succeeding. I would put every coin I had ever owned on Aedan or Fergus ending his existence.

"But I can't do anything about them, can I?" Howe continued. "There's just you and the Grey Wardens, here in my home."

I didn't mention that he was almost exactly wrong about the first thing. "I understand we had trouble capturing you."

Oddly, instead of being proud of the fact, he simply shrugged and accepted it. "I am not without skills. My time abroad wasn't spent chasing skirts and drinking wine."

I took a breath. Another potentially competent noble? Had I been wrong about them? Well, I wasn't about to let this one get away. "What skills are those, exactly?"

He looked at me as though I was an imbecile. "Hunting. Scouting. Poisons. Why? What do you care?"

Excellent. Without Zevran's presence, my supplies of potent poisons and bombs were running low. "What will you do if I let you go?" I asked, wanting more of a measure of this man's motivations.

The question surprised him. "If you let me go? I... don't know. I only came back to Ferelden a month ago." He narrowed his eyes, and appeared to come to the conclusion that I was toying with him. "If you let me go, I'll probably come back here. You might not catch me next time."

Well, he was certainly at the top of the class when they were covering courage. But he was probably away sick the day they discussed subtlety. "Perhaps you should work to redeem your name," I offered.

He snorted. "You're right," he said with bright irony. "I'll go join Queen Anora's service immediately. She'll certainly want another Howe around!"

Honours-level sarcasm, I noted. Very nice. "Your family only has itself to blame for its troubles," I said, though it wasn't exactly true. The Howes only had old Rendon to blame, who had taken everything he owned, everything he could borrow and everything he could steal, and bet it all against the Wardens.

"The Howes served Ferelden for twelve generations. My ancestors served under King Calenhad! And now, it's all lost. So go ahead and do what your going to do."

A fatalism mastery, too. Excellent. "I've decided what do to with you," I said, wondering how he'd take it.

"Already? Good," he snapped, and deliberately turned his back on me.

I gestured over my shoulder. The prison guard approached. "Yes, Commander?"

"Go and fetch Varel, please," I said, my eyes still on Howe's son.

"At once, Commander."

Howe again took his place on the prison cell floor, and looked up at me, supremely unconcerned at his predicament. We stared into each other's eyes for long minutes, neither willing to look away first.

Varel strode into the small prison, interrupting our silent contest. "I see you've spoken to our guest. Quite the handful, isn't he? Have you decided what's to be done with him?"

Hadn't Varel been seneschal at the Keep for a while? Did he not recognise him? "Did you know this was Nathaniel Howe?"

Apparently not. "A Howe?" Varel said, his eyebrows rising in surprise. "It figures that they would turn up again. The Howes are implacable enemies, Commander."

I turned to look at Howe. No, at Nathaniel. Oddly, he seemed quite pleased at being described as 'implacable'. "I wish to invoke the Right of Conscription," I said easily.

That went down about as well as you'd expect.

"You what?" Nathaniel exploded.

"I'm sorry, Commander," Varel said carefully. "the Right of Conscription? On the prisoner?"

Nathaniel hadn't finished. "No! Absolutely not! Hang me, first!"

I stared at him expressionless and immovable. "Did I say I was giving you a choice?"

He gaped at me, utterly stunned. "You really want a Howe as a Grey Warden? You are a very strange woman."

I snorted, mimicking him. "You don't know the half of it."

He leaned back, still looking at me as though I had just turned bright blue. "I can't decide if this is a vote of confidence or punishment."

"It simply is," I stated. "I have no ulterior motive. What you make of this opportunity is up to you. If you truly wish to redeem your family name, then consider it a vote of confidence. If you simply can't or won't let go of your hate for me, then being a Warden will punish you far more than I ever could."

Varel recovered from his momentary surprise. "An... interesting decision, Commander." He turned to the guard and nodded at him to release Nathaniel. "Come with me, ser. We'll see if you survive the Joining."

Nathaniel paused, still looking at me as the door to the cell was opened. "Why though," he asked. "Why give me this chance?"

"Have you ever met a Qunari?" I asked him.

He blinked at the apparent non-sequitur. "Yes. Once, in Starkhaven."

I nodded. "Their Qun is an interesting philosophy. Completely screwed up in some respects, but interesting nonetheless. There are a few parts that are worth emulating. They don't believe in wasting anything. Except mages, of course, but that's not relevant."

He appeared confused. As did Varel. "What are you talking about?"

"You have no direction in life. And you admit that you have no real prospects. I can offer you both in return for skills that the Ferelden Grey Wardens currently lack. See? No waste."

He appeared to consider this as we left the prison and ascended the steps into the Keep itself. "You'd really offer a place at your side to someone who admitted to trying to kill you?" he asked.

I didn't answer directly. I just glanced at Varel. "I'll get the ritual ready. Prepare him for the Joining." I turned back to Nathaniel. "One of my Wardens in a dwarf called Oghren. Ask him to tell you about Zevran."

* * *

><p>It was easier this time to brew the Joining potion. There was a definite aura of... completeness... when it was done. I took the chalise and another small amount of the flower extract and made my way down the stairs to the main hall. Oghren and Anders were already in attendance.<p>

I passed the goblet to Varel and turned to Nathaniel. "Tonight, you become a Grey Warden. First though, a toast for luck." I sipped the hot liquid, and passed it around the group. Nathaniel scowled, but sipped the concoction. "There are ritual words spoken at each Joining. They have been spoken from the first." I turned to face Anders. "Anders, as the most junior Warden present, would you do the honours?"

He seemed surprised, but readily agreed. He turned to face Nathaniel and, at my nod, began speaking. "Join us, brother. Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be foresworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten. And that one day we shall join you."

Varel stepped forward, holding the chalise in two hands. "From this moment forth, Nathaniel Howe, you are a Grey Warden."

Nathaniel grasped the goblet without any hesitation. As I'd noted before, he certainly didn't lack courage. He sucked in a short breath through his teeth and muttered, "The moment of truth." He drank without ceremony.

For a half second, I wondered if my feelings were wrong. Then, his eyes rolled back, and he toppled over.

Varel sounded surprised. "The Howe is stronger than I expected. For better or worse, he will live."

Oghren slapped me on the back. "Nice going, Kat."

I covered Nathaniel with a blanket under Varel's gaze. "Commander, if I may, what is the concoction that you have us drink before the Joining? It was not part of the ritual Kristoff's Wardens conducted."

I considered what I should tell him. "It's my own little addition, Varel. I'm hoping that it will improve a recruit's chances."

"Ah, I see. Well, your success so far shows that it likely works to some degree. Congratulations once again, Commander."

* * *

><p>Despite my fatigue, I sat vigil over Nathaniel until he woke, disoriented, hungry and angry. He was not pleased that he was unlikely to become a father, though it seemed to be an 'in principle' thing rather than the ruination of any particular plans. I suppose not being able to father heirs is a big deal for a noble. The reduced life span was not an issue, nor the constant hunger or nightmares. Nathaniel proved to be even more couragous than I believed.<p>

Anders proved that he had quite the affinity for the lightning element of primal magic. Under my direction he sent powerful and sustained shocking blasts at the alchemical potions I'd prepared while I sat with our newest Warden. The next morning, each of the three downed the enhanced potion.

After the momentary agony, all three stood up straighter and with almost identical expressions of surprised enthusiasm. Oghren even bounced a little on his toes. "This is how you feel since we took the Peak?" he asked me.

"Yup."

He smashed his hands together. "Sodding elf, keeping this to yourself. Come on! Let's go pound some darkspawn!"

With the three newly made (and newly enhanced) Wardens in tow, I stepped out of the main Keep to survey my new domain.

It was pretty stuffed.

There was good news to offset the bad though. I discovered that Alistair had retained Herron and Wade to assist with outfitting and stocking Vigil's Keep with arms and armour. So while I would be well placed for exceptional and inspired smithing, we were also just as well placed for world-class bitching and moaning. A one-all draw, in my opinion.

Dworkin's use of his explosives during the battle had unsettled some of the foundations, and collapsed some of the tunnels beneath the keep. The only bright spot was the fact that the rockfall had revealed a rather impressive vein of veridium ore directly under the Keep. There was not enough to justify turning the tunnels into a proper mine, but there was plenty for Wade to use to outfit the men-at-arms assigned to the Keep.

We cleared what darkspawn remained on this side of the rockfalls, and Thunder found a new friend. Nathaniel's governess had a mabari companion, which placed her rather highly in my opinion. But, the governess had succumbed to the taint after sending her hound for help, and we were obliged to end her life. We found some letters from Delilah to her beau, which I passed to her brother. Nathaniel expression at the gesture was a study of contrasts - he was beginning to warm to me, or at least have fewer thoughts of putting an arrow into my back during the fighting.

Our implacable progress through the lingering darkspawn drew more than a little comment from the troops, with one sergeant expressing amazement at our progress. Once the last of the tainted men and darkspawn had been culled, we left the tunnels with orders to set some men to clear them.

On travelling back upstairs through the ranks of soldiers, it was palatable how much morale had increased with that quite simple victory. I suppose the idea of being billeted with people who could blitz through odds of twenty-to-one and emerge unscathed was universally positive.

We emerged from the tunnels into the basement, where the governess' mabari still lay in misery. Thunder growled and barked a couple of times, ordering the apathetic hound up. The bitch followed along with us back out into the cold morning drizzle. I'd have probably wanted to stay in the reasonably warm and dry basement myself. I nodded to Thunder's questioning whine, and he herded the mabari away towards the kitchens.

"That dog is weird," Anders said, watching the pair wander away.

"In what way?" I asked, a bit defensively.

He just looked at me. "The way it acts like a person, instead of, oh I don't know... a dog," he said in a mocking tone.

I gave Thunder's retreating form a thoughtful glance. Ever since he'd fought with me on top of Fort Drakon, he had certainly developed a few more quirky personality traits. Perhaps it was the fact that he was a Warden too. We were certainly a quirky bunch.

We left Thunder and his new friend and audited the rest of the grounds.

Nathaniel was quite helpful, pointing out weak points in the walls, and introducing me to his family retainers. Through one, the grounds-keeper, Nathaniel discovered that his sister was actually alive and well, though living in much reduced circumstances. It took only an agreement for us to look her up when we visited Amaranthine for him to give me his first smile.

Oghren recognised the tactic, and grinned at me behind Nathaniel's back, before butting in with a leading question about his parentage. Apparently Fergus had mentioned to the dwarf that he doubted Nathaniel would return to Ferelden at all. Oghren finished by declaring his respect for the young Howe's courage in coming back to face what would only be a frosty reception, and stated emphatically that he had his back.

Nathaniel was rather bemused at that. But having seen Oghren in action, also more than a little pleased.

It was at that point, calamity to end all calamities, that we came across a demon.

o_ooo000ooo_o

Cassandra jerked back, surprise etched on her features. "A demon? Really? I have heard no reports of any such manifestation at Vigil's Keep!"

Kathryn leaned forward, her eyes burning bright with intensity. "It wasn't a demon in a meta-physical sense. You won't find its characteristics documented in some dry, dusty tome. This was no manefestation of rage, hunger, sloth, desire or even pride." She raised a hand, pinching her thumb and forefinger into a circle, holding it up in front of Cassandra's face. "This was an artfully camoflaged, chaos-infused, incarnation of Pure Evil."

Cassandra swallowed audibly. "Truly?"

Kathryn nodded, her expression completely serious. "If you took every damned demon in the entire Fade, every base thought, every bad dream, even the entire Black City itself, and somehow distilled their essence into one single entity, it wouldn't come close to the horror we discovered."

Cassandra paled at the thought. "Maker preserve us. What did you find?"

o_ooo000ooo_o

"Oh! Look at the cute little kitty!" Anders gushed.

o_ooo000ooo_o

AN: Thanks to my reviewers - MB18932, Hydroplatypus, Alifangirl21, SgtGinger, Nightbrainzz, Arsinoe de Blassenville and ShyWriter413 - I'm glad you're all enjoying my fic.

SgtGinger, your response option is turned off, I couldn't respond. I'm glad it only took three minutes.

Short chapter this time (6.5k words), but a quick turnaround. Next up, Amaranthine and Rylock's (brief) return.


	15. A holy smackdown

disclaimer type=standard

Anything you recognise is Bioware's. I daresay anything else belongs to them too.

/disclaimer

o_ooo000ooo_o

Cassandra stared at the Warden, her expression a complex battle between disbelief and confusion. "A cat is your idea of pure evil?" she blurted, disbelief staining her words.

Kathryn gave the Seeker a blank stare. In slow, clearly enunciated tones she said, "I'm a _mouse_... and a _dog_. What do you think?"

o_ooo000ooo_o

The bedraggled, adolescent feline gave a pitiful cry. The morning's constant drizzle had done good work in cleansing the Keep of darkspawn stench, but had left the cat a sodden mess.

Anders looked at the wretched thing with fondness. "There was a mouser in the tower named Mr. Wiggums. Only company I had when the templars locked me up. Miss that beast a lot, sometimes. But I can't keep a cat. We fight darkspawn for a living."

The goofy look on his face told me enough that I should keep my feelings to myself, so I bit back my first response and simply asked, "What do you want to do with him, then?" I was rather hoping that he'd let the damned thing go fend for itself.

"I'm not sure. Seems cruel to just leave him..." The cat gave another pitiful cry, and batted him gently on the cheek with a paw. Bloody thing was just trying to get a slave. "Well, I'll keep him just for a while. Until I find somewhere safer. Is that okay with you, kitty?"

It sounded quite satisfactory to the little hell-spawn, who gave another heart-melting meow and Anders' finger a lick.

"I'll call you Ser Pounce-a-lot! You can stay in my pack. Just for a little while, yes."

As the demon in feline form gave yet another heart-jerking meow, it was all I could do not to let my thoughts appear on my expression.

* * *

><p>The rest of the survey of the outer Keep proved troubling. Repairs to houses and wooden buildings could be conducted with relative ease. The fortifications however proved to be a different matter.<p>

The insane pyrophilic dwarf had a considerably more sane brother who was quite disparaging about the state of the walls. He proclaimed them 'woeful, but salvageable'. With the passing of eighty sovereigns, he even displayed some confidence about the prospect. It wiped out the profit from my last lyrium run to the Tower and a large chunk of what I'd skimmed from the templars' money pouches, but I much preferred to have solid stone between me and the hostile world.

After a full day of preparation, my Wardens and I met the gathered vassals of Amaranthine.

And couldn't you just feel the love in the room. The Bann of Amaranthine gave her oath of allegiance in the most insolent manner possible, before sweeping through the assembled nobles, insulting, belittling and generally being a bitch. However, having travelled with Morrigan for a year, her performance was eye-rollingly inadequate. Flemeth may not have been in any danger of winning 'Mother of the year', but she knew how to instil a sense of superiority in her daughter. For someone raised in a hut in a swamp, Morrigan was more regal than any queen.

One noble took me to one side and in hushed tones, claimed that there several nobles who wished to end my rule. It was all I could do to keep my face serious. These people were essentially being forced to bow to an elven mage to keep their lands. Of course they wanted to get rid of me. Only the existence of a conspiracy to do so was of interest. She promised to return soon with what evidence she had collected.

The gathering was both mind-numbing and temper-shortening, and Varel picked up on my mood quickly. He was turning out to be quite efficient in that regard. I accepted his offer to have them cleared the instant he deemed propriety had been served.

For the first time in three nights, I slept well. It was a great relief to rise with the dawn after actually having slept for eight hours.

I gathered my Wardens and headed off to Amaranthine. It was time to start fixing things.

* * *

><p>We were a rather odd group, making our way from Vigil's Keep to the City of Amaranthine. Thunder, of course, just trotted along beside me, supremely happy to simply be out and about. He chased rabbits, rolled in the dirt and fetched sticks. To my satisfaction, he also growled at Ser Pounce-a-lot whenever the cat stuck its head out of Anders' pack.<p>

Nathaniel was lost in thought, occasionally glancing at me with a confused look on his face. He still hadn't made up his mind about me, but that confusion meant that he was thinking.

Oghren and his regular sampling from various skins and bottles he kept about his person brought up the rear. So long as he was somewhere between falling-over and sober, he was a pleasant companion to travel with.

Anders was still an enigma though. He seemed quite pleased with his new pet, which I had to consciously refrain from either chasing after or fleeing from. Or immolating - that would be satisfactory too. I could crush it in a prison of force too. Or...

I shook my head to clear it of the violent thoughts. "So, Anders, tell me about yourself."

He smiled at me. "What would you like to know?"

I shrugged. "Anything. What do you remember of your family?" I asked, wondering if he was related to my friend. "Scuttlebutt says that the mage that kept escaping came to the Tower late."

He responded to my question with a wry half-grin and a small shrug. "I did indeed. I was fifteen before I was first dragged off. My mother raised me in Gwaren until she passed away. Her brother turned me over to the templars so that her inconvenient son wouldn't inherit her worldly possessions."

Nathaniel frowned at that, and Oghren scoffed openly. "Nice," I said sarcastically. "What of your father?"

"Oh, I'm a bastard," he said cheerfully. "Never knew dear old Dad. I was curious for a while as a child, but my mother always put off telling me who he was. Of course, that was before she died, so I guess now I'll never know. She did tell me that he was in King Maric's army though. I was the result of him passing through Gwaren."

I looked at him and did some quick mental arithmetic. Yep, that would be about the time. "I think I may know your brother," I said.

He gaped at me. "Really?" Nathaniel looked surprised too.

I shrugged. "I think so. He looks quite a bit like you, and his father did fight in the war. He even sounds a bit like you too. You've very similar voices."

"Is he ruggedly handsome too?" he asked with a waggle of his eyebrows.

Nathaniel rolled his eyes and sighed.

"Modesty is an alien concept to you, isn't it?" I said.

"Yup," he agreed with enthusiasm. "So, who is it? Can I meet him?"

"Probably, but not for a while. He is from a village on the other side of Ferelden. His name is Matthias, and father was Wilhelm, King Maric's battlemage. A very powerful one too, from what Loghain told me."

Anders looked taken aback. "I... see. So, my father might have been a mage too. I suppose that explains why mother refused to talk about him. And I might have a brother. Wow."

I looked at his expression carefully, trying to judge his reaction. "A niece too. Amalia. Cute kid. I wouldn't take..." I grimaced, "...Ser Pounce-a-lot near her though."

"She's not fond of cats, I take it?"

I winced at the memory. "She used to be. But she had a bad experience involving a cat-shaped demon trying to possess her, that's all."

"Ah," he said tactfully. "She has talent. I hope I get to meet her before she's shipped off to the Circle."

I sighed in contentment. "Oh, that's not likely to happen any time soon. Matthias has put up wards around the little hamlet they live in. No templars know where they are and can't get there if they did."

"My brother is a mage too?"

I nodded. "Yep. We spent a few days in Honnleath snowed in the winter during the Blight. He and I spent a lot of time exchanging spells and theory. You know the barrier spell that mages of Wynne's generation are fond of? Wilhelm developed a variation that can cover an area well beyond the understood limits. Genius, if you ask me."

Anders turned to Oghren. "Do you know him too?"

The dwarf shook his head, sending his plaited beard flapping. "Nope. Met Kat and her crew a bit after that. That golem of his was mighty useful though," he mused.

Anders blinked. "Golem? You mean, like, a big creature made of stone?"

Oghren growled, deep in his chest. "More like, a big hunk of stone made of dwarf. Sodding Anvil." He took a deep swig from an earthenware jug and refused to say more.

* * *

><p>We passed the time speaking amongst ourselves. Oghren, once his sour mood had lightened, retold some of our Blight adventures with enthusiasm. Anders recounted some of his mis-adventures dodging templars. It took some encouragement, but Nathaniel even told us of an adventure or two during his time abroad.<p>

Eventually we reached Amaranthine. Refugees and beggars clogged the main entrance to the city. Few people were getting into the city. That would have to change if I wanted the economy moving again.

Following Garevel's information, I asked around and was directed to a pair of trappers who'd set up their camp near the front gate. A human man - lean, scruffy and smelling of ill-tanned rabbit pelts - looked me up and down as I approached. "Are you Colbert?" I demanded bluntly.

He leered at me, and waggled his eyebrows. "Looking for some company, honey-pie? I'm always available for riveting conversations with fine women."

"I'll rivet you to the floor if you call me that again," I said with a sweet smile on my face.

The conflicting signals seemed to confuse him. "I, er, okay. I like a woman who's all business."

I let the smile drop from my face in an instant. "I'm here to talk about darkspawn."

He swallowed nervously. "Oh, you're one of those Grey Wardens." He glanced at his companion; an male elf dressed in similar clothes. And who, it was painfully obvious, shared similar bathing habits. "You find some darkspawn and sure enough, the Grey Wardens come knocking. I can't take all the credit for finding the rift, you know. Micah here fell in first."

The elf by his side gave a mindless grunt. As difficult as it was to believe, Colbert appeared to be the brains of the outfit.

"Keep talking," I said, not particularly interested in the byplay.

"It's quite a ways out of town. We were tracking a buck off in that direction, you see... before this darkspawn mess." He paused to gather his thoughts, which turned out to be rather scattered. "We'd been on his tail for about a week at that point. I'd wager he thought it was great fun, leading us on a merry chase as he did."

I fought down my first impulse to simply throttle the answers out of him, but said, "Go on."

"That buck was a sly one, he was, He had big feet and a-"

Micah cleared his throat meaningfully. I looked at him more closely. Perhaps there was a brain under all that filth after all. Or perhaps just a sense of self-preservation.

"Oh, the chasm! Yes, er... we saw it coming over a rise. It really was something to behold, a huge cleft, as though the Maker himself had cracked the earth in two, like... like and egg."

"I like eggs," the dirty elf added.

"It looked like someone had tried to build over it, but it must have been abandoned a long time ago. No one in town knew about it."

"Who tried to build over it?" I asked pointedly.

"People, I suppose," was the singularly unenlightening answer. "Maybe even the darkspawn. Well, of course we had to investigate! That was when Micah fell in. A shriek like you wouldn't believe, and he was gone."

"Earth crumbled. Not stable," the other half of the brains trust supplied.

"Right, and as Micah lay there yelling about his knee or his head or what have you, the darkspawn appeared."

"What happened then?" I asked, finding it difficult to credit their account.

"The seemed... occupied, like they had some place really important they had to be. Didn't notice us at all. Thank the Maker."

Anders scoffed a bit at that. "The darkspawn were so occupied as to overlook two screaming, injured men? Boggles the mind."

Colbert pointed out the location of the rift on our map, and then said, "So... are we getting anything for our trouble?"

"Here's a sovereign," I said, flicking the gold coin to the man.

"A whole sovereign?" he blurted, looking shocked. "If there's ever a reason to fall into a darkspawn pit, here it is. Maker bless you."

Oghren grumbled as the pair took off to spend their loot. "We're paying for fairy stories now? Word gets out that we're giving gold for fantasies, it'll be the sodding Alienage all over again."

I winced at the reminder of my naivety. "You might be right, but we do know that there are some Deep Road entrances in Amaranthine. Maybe this rift is another."

The dwarf frowned, considering that. "Aye, it's possible. But speaking as someone who's told his fair share of drunken tales, let me get the next one, yeah?"

* * *

><p>We entered Amaranthine with only the briefest of delays at the gate, where a junior guard was given an abrupt lesson in when to obey his superior officer and when to exercise his own judgement. Given the guard captain's displayed abilities, I didn't hold much hope for the lesson being learned. He couldn't even keep a lid on smuggling.<p>

Nathaniel led us through the city to the merchant quarter, eager to look for his sister. Anders took a deep breath through his nose as we passed a pair of helmeted templars.

"Ah, can you smell that? That is the smell of freedom. It comes complete with the smell of dogs and dust, but the freedom is in there, too."

I looked up at him. "You think being a Grey Warden is freedom?"

He shrugged noncommittally. "I may not have a choice about fighting the darkspawn, but this is a step up for me. I escaped from the tower seven times. After the last time, they put me in solitary confinement for a year. Eventually, I'm sure they would have branded me a maleficar, true or not, and executed me."

I grunted. "I'm surprised they didn't do it sooner."

He scoffed at that. "They're not murderers. They only kill mages when they can prove we're dangerous. For the good of all. The problem is that mages are tolerated. Barely. It's like you need permission to be alive. There's nothing a mage can do to prove himself. Everyone needs to be protected from you. The end."

I let a slow smile appear on my face. "I can sympathise..."

"I should certainly hope so," he exclaimed.

"...but believe me when I say... that is changing," I finished emphatically.

"Optimist," he retorted before letting loose a huge sigh. "All I want is a pretty girl, a decent meal, and the right to shoot lighting at fools," he said wistfully.

I couldn't have wanted a better lead in line to start flirting. "Pretty girl. Right here."

He smiled at me, genuine humour in his eyes. "Hmm. Maybe I'm closer to the dream than I imagined. Never mind me. Now and again I recall that I'm not sitting in a cell and I have to smile, that's all."

I was about to tell him about the changes at the Circle that had occurred since his last imprisonment there when Nathaniel suddenly stopped, and then raced forward towards a dark-haired woman.

"Want to bet that's Grumpy's sister?" Oghren offered.

Both Anders and I shook our heads. "No bet," we replied in unison.

* * *

><p>Nathaniel was more than a little pensive on returning from his reunion. Apparently his sister Delilah had given him some hard facts about their father and his actions, culminating in a declaration that the world was better off with Rendon Howe a memory.<p>

Delilah had actually married out of love, rather than necessity. Her new husband was a shopkeeper of moderate means, but he clearly doted on his young wife, especially since she was on the way to providing them with a child. Despite Nathaniel's misgivings, she appeared to be quite happy and content with her lot in life.

It turned out that Nathaniel was not the only member of my group that ran across a female acquaintance. Anders spotted a rather haggard-looking woman and raced over to speak to her. Their conversation was animated, but conducted in low tones. The woman eventually stormed off, leaving my Warden looking both excited and contemplative.

He returned to us at a slow walk, deep in thought.

"Friend of your's, I take it?"

He automatically responded with defensive humour. "Do I detect a note of jealousy?"

"No," I replied. "You detect a note of curiosity. Completely different tone. Who was she?"

He cleared his throat, as though embarrassed. "Her name's Namaya. She's discovered that my phylactery is here in Amaranthine, in a warehouse. Last time I was free, she was going to help me track it down and destroy it."

I raised my eyebrows. "Seriously?"

He nodded like an earnest puppy. "Can we see if we can find it? It's the last thing hanging over my head from the Chantry."

"It's a trap," I said flatly.

"You don't know that! It may not be!"

"It's a trap, it's a trap," I repeated, sing-song.

"Please stop that," Anders said, raising a hand to his forehead and grimacing at my voice. It didn't escape my notice that Nathaniel also tried to hide a wince.

I wasn't at all surprised. Leilana once told me that I could probably turn back the darkspawn tide if I just tried singing to them. As a trained bard, her standards for judging musical talent were high to begin with, but her description of my voice was pretty close to the mark. "So you agree with me?" I pressed.

"Why are you so sure that it's a trap?" he asked, his voice sullen and flat.

I gave him a look of disbelief. "Are you serious?"

"I asked, didn't I?"

I took a deep breath, which turned into a sigh. "Anders, just use your head for a minute, will you?"

Oghren snorted, swaying slightly in his early-morning, mild drunken haze. "I'll bet ya a nug supper it was usin' the other head s'wat gets him in trouble in the first place, heh heh."

I poked my tongue out at the dwarf, but didn't bother trying to argue. "Thank you for your input, Oghren. Correction – Anders, please think for a moment will you? Why would your phylactery be stored in a rundown warehouse in Amaranthine?"

He stopped scowling at Oghren and turned back to me. "The templars moved a batch of them here during the Blight. For safe keeping," he said with a shrug.

I rolled my eyes and chuckled. "Look, I know that as a group, templars aren't exactly the sharpest swords in the armoury, but seriously? You think they're going to just leave a bunch of phylacteries in an unguarded warehouse in a city so undermanned that it's close to breaking down into anarchy? They'd have moved them all back to Denerim by now."

He struggled with that for a moment. "Well, okay, it does sound a bit unlikely. But I trust Namaya."

"Why?"

He actually blushed at my question, unable to meet my eyes. Nathaniel even snickered behind his hand. Oghren didn't bother covering his.

"She and I were, well, I er…"

"You give her an ol' flesh tattoo, huh?" Oghren leered. His gravelly voice and pelvic thrusts lending the already lewd phrase even more obscenity.

Anders flashed a look of annoyance at the unrepentant dwarf.

"How do you do that?" Nathaniel asked, his tone more curious than objectionable.

"Do what?"

"Make everything sound so... vulgar."

Oghren shrugged. "It's a gift. What can I say?"

I grinned at the pair. "Quiet children. Anders is about to tell us why he trusts a woman he's slept with and then left without saying goodbye. I for one can't wait for the answer."

The mage coughed, but tried to cover his momentary embarrassment. He ran his eyes suggestively down my figure. "Jealous?"

Nice try, but I could play that game too. "Absolutely," I said emphatically.

He blinked, his surprise evident on his features. In a voice an octave higher than he'd have wanted, he managed to say, "Well then," He coughed, his voice returning to his usual clear tenor. "Perhaps I could show you? You'll see exactly why I trust her."

I put on an expression of pious innocence. "I'm sorry, you think I'm jealous of her? Maker, I'm jealous of you! Namaya is gorgeous!"

Anders spluttered and Nathaniel coughed, both blushing crimson. Oghren's horrifyingly suggestive laugh would have caused a Denerim dock-side prostitute to blush. "Nice work, Sparkle-fingers. Kat don't even freeze darkspawn so quickly."

Nathaniel stared at me open-mouthed. I glanced at him and gave him a wink. "Is there something you'd like to say, Nathaniel?"

He clamped his jaw shut with an audible click. "Uh, no, Commander. Not at all."

I rolled my eyes. "Kathryn, Nathaniel. My name is Kathryn, remember?" I turned and punched Anders in the bicep, causing a low ringing as my gauntlet connected with the circlet around his arm. "Come on, Lover-boy. Tell us why you trust her."

He didn't appear to be able to let it go. "You really think Namaya is pretty?" he asked dubiously.

I sighed and shook my head. "No, I just said that to deflate your ego to the point where it's possible to have a reasonable discussion with you. One without your manliness intruding."

"Hur, hur, his manliness intruding was probably what-"

"Oghren!" I warned, holding up a finger. "You can humiliate Anders later at your leisure. Now spill!"

Anders sighed, but I did spot his relief, despite his attempt to hide it. "Fine. Namaya is... a friend. Last time I escaped from the tower, I hid with her for a while."

"Hur, hur," came Oghren's predictable laugh. "Hiding the sausage, eh?"

"I can set your beard on fire with my mind," Anders said with a mock snarl.

"I can cut your legs off at the knees with my axe," Oghren replied easily.

With practiced ease, I ignored the casual exchange of insults. I'd travelled with Morrigan and Alistair for a year. These two amateurs didn't even come close to their level of inventive nastiness. Not yet, at any rate. "And then what?"

Anders shrugged. "You know that during the Blight, the templars moved their store of phylacteries to Amaranthine for safety. That one over there. Namaya learned that my phylactery is among them. So long as the templars have that sample of my blood, they can find me. I need to destroy it. Unfortunately, the templars caught up to me first. Dragged me off. I never saw her again until today."

"And you still trust her?"

He puffed out his chest. "She did declare her undying love for me the last time we were together. And she had come through for me and located my leash. I think you are underestimating my skills in-"

I held up a hand, hoping to forestall his future humiliation. "Right. Let's recap, shall we? A few days ago, a fanatical templar stormed off in a huff because the King and I wouldn't let her summarily execute you for the crime of sitting in a cell while her comrades were butchered by darkspawn. Right?"

He frowned, but nodded. Nathaniel perked up a bit, wondering what he'd missed while stuck in a cell of his own.

"Right. Now, as she left, she swore that she wouldn't let you escape 'Chantry Justice' for your crimes. Today, you happen to run into an ex-lover who you last saw on the other side of the country and who, somehow, just happens to know a closely-guarded secret of a pedantically tight-lipped religious Order. Not only is she here, but she also happens to know that the one last thing that binds you to templar control forever is also here, close by. Tantalisingly close by, you might say. Is that about right so far?"

"Yes, but-"

I held up a second hand. "Right. So, according to her, all you need to do is break into an abandoned warehouse. A warehouse that happens to look like it was built with ambushes in mind, is solid enough to muffle the sounds of combat, and happens to be nowhere near the customary guard patrol. Indeed, it's practically in the most remote corner of the city. All to locate an irreplaceable object that could easily have been safely returned to Denerim at any time in the past few months, but must have been somehow overlooked. Does that about cover it?" I finished, dropping my hands.

Anders blinked. He opened his mouth to respond, but closed it instead. After a second, he opened his mouth again, thought better of it and closed it. His eyes darted around as he thought about the circumstances. "Well, when you put it that way, I suppose it does sound a little suspicious."

"A little?" Nathaniel exclaimed, his expression incredulous.

I gave Anders my best winsome smile. "I do put it that way. But don't fret. On the vanishingly remote chance that it isn't a trap, we can still destroy your phylactery. However, if it is a trap, it is an opportunity I am not going to let slip past." I rubbed my hands together and thought how best to proceed.

Nathaniel leaned to one side and whispered to Oghren, "What opportunity do you think she means?"

Oghren grinned evilly. "Knowing the Commander, it'll be something to do with embarrassing them knights in dresses."

"Knights in… you mean the templars?"

"Aye, that's them. Kat's got what you might call a bit of a grudge against 'em."

I grinned at the dwarf. "Oghren, would you do me a favour and go and have a chat with Aidan. Tell him that we think we may have stumbled on a cell of the smugglers he mentioned. Tell him that in the interests of morale, we'll let his men capture them; we'll be nearby as backup only." I turned my grin to Nathaniel. "Nathaniel, would you please go and officially request the presence of Amaranthine's Revered Mother. Tell her that we have uncovered information about stolen property of the Chantry being stored in a warehouse here in the city, and that she will be required to identify said property and ensure it is intact."

Anders blinked owlishly at me. "Er, what? Hang on! Why are we getting the Revered Mother involved?"

I clapped him on the shoulder. "Anders, what do you imagine will happen when the city guard arrests whoever is in there waiting for us? Just suppose it happens to be Rylock and a merry band of fanatic morons. Imagine the Revered Mother's expression when she finds out that some templars were not only violating the King's orders, but also a centuries-old treaty signed by the very first Divine herself."

Anders scowled. "Alright, assuming it is Rylock, why wouldn't the Revered Mother just side with her? She could order the guards to take her side."

I cocked an eyebrow. "Side against the Hero of Ferelden, a close-personal friend of the King? Side against the Arlessa of Amaranthine and Warden-Commander of the Grey? Against four Grey Wardens? With Constable Aidan and his men as witnesses? How likely do you think that would be?"

"Clearly you haven't met as many Revered Mothers as I have."

I opened my mouth to retort, but stopped to give that some thought. "You may have a point. The Revered Mother in Lothering actually tried to shakedown a tithe from me, claiming it would feed many people."

"Well, it probably would," Nathaniel offered as he started to head off to the Chantry.

I snorted. "It wouldn't unless she had the ability to somehow pray money into food. There wasn't anything to eat in the town at the time."

Nathaniel blushed slightly, but nodded and trotted away. I lowered my voice and continued, "And I had to physically threaten her to get her to release Sten, the cow had ordered him locked him up in an exposed cage and left to the mercy of the darkspawn."

Anders nodded happily. "Yep, that sounds like she hadn't changed much from the last time she ordered me bound in chains and whipped out of town. That woman could suck sugar out of lemons."

"The Revered Mother in Redcliffe was nice though, she actually did everything she could to help her flock."

He looked dubious. "Really?"

I nodded. "Yep. Mind you, her flock had been reduced to about a tenth of its usual size in only a couple of nights. Um, let's see, who else? There were a couple of priests arguing outside the Chantry in Denerim, oh, and Sister Justine the archivist, but the only other high-ranking priestess I've met was the Grand Bitch herself, and that was after we'd killed the archdemon. So, alright, from past experience, it's touch and go if the Revered Mother will back any templars in the warehouse."

"Nice as it is that you agree with me, if there are templars in the warehouse and they get off a Holy Smite or two, how are we going to deal with them?"

I shrugged. "It took four Wardens to subdue Nathaniel when he broke into the Vigil. I can't imagine that templars would present that much of a problem for him. And when he's drunk, Oghren could turn a dozen templars into gory chunks and greasy smears all by himself."

"Well then, we're lucky that he's always drunk."

I grimaced. "Just… cut him a little slack. Please? Don't pity him, whatever you do, but… just let his drinking habits go."

Anders grinned. "I don't know. That's a pretty big thing just to let go."

"Please? Oghren is difficult to get to know, but you won't find a more devoted friend."

Anders gave me a doubtful look. "Are you sure? He doesn't strike me as all that reliable."

I took a deep breath. "All right, short version. His wife left him in Orzammar to go on an expedition. We found her in the Deep Roads. She was looking for the Anvil of the Void, the secret to making golems. We found it first, but since it involved stuffing a living dwarf into a stone suit and pouring molten lyrium over him, Oghren and I decided it wasn't worth saving. Branka, that's Oghren's wife, disagreed, and we fought. He tried to convince her, but she was as obsessed as it was possible to be. Oghren kept trying to talk her around, and sided with us, but he ended up having to fight her himself. He decapitated his own wife." I looked up into Anders' shocked expression. "So he has a few reasons for drinking as he does."

Anders swallowed audibly, and nodded. "Uh, okay. Should I… er…"

I held up a hand. "Hang on. Despite all that, he stuck with me to the end; even after Alistair left the Wardens to marry Anora, and Morrigan… left us as well. Oghren stared down the archdemon with Loghain, Thunder and me. Even after being chewed up and spat out, he got back up and jumped on the damned thing. He rode the archdemon's neck like a stallion straight out of a nightmare and slammed a big hammer of his right between the thing's eyes. He hit a gigantic sodding dragon so hard it was stunned, giving Loghain the chance to strike the killing blow."

Anders appeared speechless. "I... just... wow."

"So just keep insulting him when he insults you. Make up stupid male stories of enormous erections and skill in battle and bed. Share a pint with him. Well, you have a pint while he has a barrel. Just don't pity him."

Anders coloured. "How am I supposed to make up stories to compete with him if he rode the bloody archdemon?"

I snorted. "If you have a strong stomach, you could ask him to show you his scars. Archdemon teeth make very cool patterns. Especially when you consider that they match both on his chest and back." It was only the quality of his Legion armour that saved him, that day on the top of Fort Drakon.

Anders' eyes lost focus as he thought about my words. The faint look of revulsion was probably due to him imagining Oghren stripping, rather than imagining the scars themselves. "I'm sure."

Chuckling, I said, "Anyway, back to the trap. It's only an issue if we're both incapacitated."

He shook his head. "Uh, if it is a templar trap, we'll get a Smite called down upon us. At that point, we're going to be - how did you put it - _incapacitated_."

I shrugged. "You do know it's possible to resist a Smite, don't you?"

His mouth dropped open. "What? No it's not."

With a grin, I said, "I can resist a Smite from someone of Alistair's power more often than not."

I actually saw a fly buzz into Anders' open mouth and out again. "Really?" he got off eventually.

"Yes, really." I glanced around us. "During the Blight, I saw a darkspawn emissary shrug off one of Alistair's Smites and keep on casting. I desperately wanted to learn how to do that too, so I got Alistair to hit me with a Smite every evening for over a month until I learned how."

"You're serious? Templars can hit you with a Smite and you can keep casting?"

I frowned at him. "Not every time. Look, you've been hit with a Smite before, right?"

"Of course. It's not an experience I'd care to repeat."

"Right. Well, did you tense up? Did you try and ride out the pain?"

"Er, I suppose so."

"Wrong. You've already failed at that point. It's hard to explain, but you sort of have to force it away from you, rather than let it wash over you." I shook my head. "Essentially, it's a test of willpower. If you can mentally force a Smite away from you, it doesn't drain your magical strength."

He looked thoughtful. "Look, it's not that I don't believe you, but... well, I guess I don't believe you. I've never heard of a mage that was immune to a templar's Smite."

"Who'd tell? Any mage that advertised the fact would get an army of severely repressed fanatics dropped on him so hard you'd have to use a bucket and mop to pick him up afterwards. One mage can only defend against so much, and even less experienced templars can dispel magical effects. Besides, do you really think the templars would teach mages how to resist their powers at the Circle?"

He still looked dubious. "So, you can seriously ride out a Smite with no ill effects?"

I shook my head. "Not exactly. Like I said, it's a battle of willpower just to hold onto your magical strength. Smites have an impact on non-mages too. But I've completely shocked many a templar by casting spells at him just after being hit."

"I bet they were surprised."

"Well, that's definitely one of the top five understatements I've ever heard. They usually ended up dead afterwards, so it was a moot point."

"Please tell me you're going to teach me. Pleasepleaseplease?"

I snorted. "Of course I'm going to teach you. We'll need Oghren's help though."

Anders blinked. "Er, why?"

"To Smite you, of course. You need someone to practise against."

"He's not a templar!"

Grinning, I said, "He can do anything a templar can. Andraste's tits, they're only warriors, why would you think another warrior couldn't learn?"

"But… but… but he's a drunk!"

"So? It's not that hard to learn how to do a Holy Smite."

He gaped at me. "How do you know that?"

I shrugged. "If it was, templars wouldn't be able to."

Anders covered his eyes with one hand. "Are you seriously saying that the filthy, drunken, loud-mouthed dwarf in our little group is a damned templar?"

"No, of course not. I'm saying he has templar abilities. Alistair taught him."

He gave me an indescribable look. It was quite an amusing game to keep him off balance. "The King. Our King. The bloody King of Ferelden taught a dwarf secret templar techniques?"

"Yup."

He looked to the sky, a thoughtful expression on his face. "You know, I had no idea insanity was contagious. But here I am, listening to you try and tell me that a royal-trained, drunken, dwarf berserker-templar is going to help me learn how to do the impossible."

Before I could answer, a voice called out, "Commander Kathryn!"

I turned to see Nathaniel leading a greying woman of late middle-age and a quartet of templar guards. "Ah, Nathaniel, thank you."

He flicked his eyes between Anders and me, and then turned back to the cleric. "Revered Mother Morag, this is Kathryn Surana, Commander of the Grey in Ferelden. Commander, Revered Mother Morag."

I nodded neutrally at the woman. "Hello." Nathaniel closed his eyes and winced.

She nodded stiffly back. "I take it you have not had proper instruction on how to receive a Revered Mother."

I gave her a deliberate smile. "I certainly have."If anything, the woman stiffened even more. "Exactly why have you summoned me here, Warden-Commander?"

I stared at her, observing her mannerisms. "I have reason to believe that there are some stolen goods belonging to the Chantry in a warehouse here in Amaranthine. I would ask that you come with us to help identify the property, after we root out the smugglers."

"And what would these goods be?" she asked acidly.

I shrugged. "I have no idea. I was not told anything other than it was taken from the Chantry."

She eyed me closely, then looked at Anders. With a suddenly amiable smile, she replied, "Very well, Commander. Let us be off. I am most eager to have anything which belongs to the Chantry returned."

I smiled back at her, not missing the double meaning of her words. Anders looked quite pale, but also managed a sickly smile.

"This way," I said, leading the small group towards the warehouse. As we passed by, Oghren trotted up to us.

"Them pansies will be there in a minute, Kat. Who's the prune?"

Two of the templars behind the Revered Mother had minor coughing fits, one even raised a fist to his where his mouth would be under his helmet; just to ensure that we all knew he was actually coughing and not covering a laugh. Morag's lips however, were pursed so hard that they resembled a cat's bottom.

"This is Morag, Oghren. She's in charge of the Chantry in Amaranthine. Morag, this is Oghren, a senior Warden."

"This… dwarf… is a Warden?" she said, looking pained and outraged at the same time.

"Oh, aye," Oghren replied, not the lest bit offended. "Passed my Joining and all." He let loose a resounding belch that just about echoed from the nearby buildings. "Didn't even get the runs afterwards."

Morag pressed a scented handkerchief to her mouth, suddenly looking rather ill.

"Righty-ho, let's go, time's a wasting," I said cheerfully, and continued walking towards the warehouse in question. Anders looked supremely nervous at being in the company of four templars and an acerbic priest, but surprisingly managed to keep his mouth shut.

"How long?" I asked Oghren once we arrived at the warehouse.

"He said he'd be right behind me. Sodding nugs take so long to get ready it's a wonder they even noticed the smugglers in the first place."

I nodded. "Right, well, we'll wait. Nathaniel, do you think you can open the door quietly?"

"Easily, Comm- Kathryn," he said, though not without a sideways glance at the Revered Mother.

"For whom are we waiting?" Morag demanded.

"Constable Aidan," I replied, observing Nathaniel's technique over his shoulder. More like Leliana than Zevran, I noted. His skills were focused more on locks than traps. "We cannot just barge into private property, even with your permission."

Morag blinked, and suddenly appeared unsure. Before she could respond, Aidan trotted up with a trio of guards behind him. "Commander! Are you sure there are smugglers in here?"

"Yes," I lied. "That's the information we've received. Revered Mother Morag is here to observe, since it's Chantry goods that are being smuggled, I understand."

"Revered Mother," Aidan greeted her with a deep bow. "Please remain here until my men and I have ensured the building is safe for entry."

She drew herself up. "I was under the impression the Grey Wardens were conducting this investigation," she declared.

I waved her comment away. "It's more of an joint operation. Now, if you don't mind, this might be dangerous, so if you lot could keep the Revered Mother safe and secure, that would be great. Aidan, after you."

* * *

><p>Morag was, as I judged, not used to being ignored and overruled. But by giving her bodyguards instructions to keep her safe, she needed to overrule them before they would let her enter. That took a bit of time, since she was basically insisting they let her go into danger.<p>

By the time her templar escort allowed her into the warehouse, the welcoming committee ambush had been sprung. Just not in the way Rylock had anticipated. The fanatical templar had expected Anders, me and perhaps one or two other Wardens. Assuming that a Smite or two would take care of Anders and I, that meant that the three templars would feel well placed to emerge triumphant.

She was not expecting four Wardens, a mabari, and some city guards. She and her matching bookends suddenly looked a little cautious.

She and Anders bickered back and forth while Aidan and his guards looked around confused. I really needed to speak to Bann Esmerelle about the lack of depth to her city's recruitment practises.

"The Chantry's authority supersedes the crown in this matter. You cannot hide within the Grey Wardens' ranks," Rylock shrieked, spittle flying from her mouth.

I decided that I needed to take control of the situation. "As a Grey Warden, he's not hiding," I said firmly, before turning to Aidan. "Constable, as they are defying a royal command, please arrest these templars. We can sort this out-"

"Now!" Rylock screamed over her shoulder at her companions. As one, they raised their arms and faces.

One thing about the stance templars use to call down a Smite - back straight, arms aloft, feet one-and-one-half shoulder widths apart and face raised to the sky - it doesn't leave much in the way of protection around the front of the neck.

Thunder roared to life and leapt. He tore the throat out of one of the templars with well-practised ease. She was dead before she hit the floor.

Still, that left two Holy Smites crashing down around us. Poor Anders screamed in agony as he was floored by the mystical forces, while Nathaniel hissed in pain as he was sent sprawling. Aidan and his guards were flattened, unprepared for and unused to such a mystical attacks.

Oghren and I grimaced in the face of the force. We then grinned at each other.

With a bellow, the berserker leapt at the two remaining templars. Rylock's surprise at her Smite not being universally successful did not prevent her from defending against the enraged dwarf's swing - just not too effectively. The blow knocked her back on her arse and severely damaged her armour.

I tossed a petrification spell at the other templar, who stiffened under the magic. A second later, he shattered into dozens of rocky shards as Thunder barrelled into him.

"No!" screamed a voice from behind.

I turned to see Morag gaping at the scene. She rounded on me, her face flushed with incandescent fury. "Arrest them! They killed holy templars!" she shrieked at her escort.

I flicked the simplest of conjurations out at her. Constrained by the narrow doorway, neither the templars nor the priest had any opportunity to avoid the effect.

Templars wear heavy breastplate armour and helmets, with comparatively lightweight kilts. I'd exploited their high centre of gravity several times in the past. Even experienced templars find it difficult to keep their feet when the ground is suddenly covered in a thick layer of grease.

The four templars tried pushing past the priest, only to end up flailing their arms and weapons wildly around as they slid over the lubricated floor. One accidentally smashed a companion with his morning-star as he went down. Another tried grabbing a nearby handhold for stability, which happened to be the Revered Mother herself. She went down on her arse too.

It was all rather comical.

Nathaniel shook off his torpor and rose to his feet. He shouted "Stop!" at Oghren and Thunder, who had Rylock backed into a corner.

I took a page out of Morrigan's book of theatrics, and summoned two handfuls of purple fire. "Yes! Everyone stop!" I repeated.

Morag's templar escorts froze at the sight of me holding fire. Or at least, me holding a couple of fireballs over the slick of highly flammable grease in which they were standing. Two of them even dropped their weapons and spread their arms in surrender.

"Right, let's all just calm down, shall we?" I continued, in a much softer tone of voice.

From behind me, Rylock started to shout something, but a meaty thump quickly silenced her. I didn't even bother turning around. Oghren would have it well in hand.

Morag pointed a trembling finger at me. "You murdered a templar!" she howled.

"No, I defended myself against an attack. Constable Aidan here can vouch for that, right Aidan?"

I glanced down at the guard leader, but he was kneeling over a a guard that was convulsing and bleeding from the eyes, nose and ears. "No! Michael, stay with me!"

Bugger. I couldn't really keep my theatrics going if it meant the death of a guard, even an incompetent one. I snuffed the flames dancing on my palms and pulled a pair of potions from my bandoleer. "Anders!" I shouted, bending over and rolling the potions to him, one after the other. "We need some healing!"

Anders, still lying prone, managed to control his trembling body enough to face me, but couldn't grab the vials cleanly. He stopped the first, but the other bounced off his hand and spun away. He picked up the first and raised it to his mouth, tugging the cork out with his teeth. He downed the potent mixture in one go.

"I will see you executed!" Morag screamed, struggling to her feet. She only got half way up before slipping again, this time landing hard on her elbow. She screamed in pain as her shoulder deformed visibly.

"Revered Mother!" one of the templars cried, crawling over to the priest. He gently raised and supported her into a sitting position.

A burst of healing magic flowed around the Wardens and city guards. It was a powerful spell - draining too, but it was damned useful in keeping multiple people alive temporarily until their wounds could be seen to directly.

"Now," I said, with my voice as hard as I could make it. "I think it's time to discuss this treason."

o_ooo000ooo_o

Cassandra found herself gnawing on her thumbnail, a childhood habit she had thought broken. Self-consciously, she pulled her hand away from her mouth and put it behind her back; the tactic that had broken the habit in the first place.

Kathryn looked at her with an amused expression. "It must be hard."

"What must be?" Cassandra snapped, still mulling the scene.

"Hearing that a Revered Mother was stupid enough to order her templars to arrest a noblewoman in the presence of the civil authority. Especially since the civil authorities in question had just been caught up, and almost killed, in an unprovoked attack by another templar."

Cassandra's left eye twitched again, but she dismissed the question with a wave of her hand. "That a Revered Mother fell for your ambush is not in question, Warden," she growled.

Kathryn put on an artfully innocent look. "Ambush? I set no ambush?"

"What would you call bringing along a Revered Mother to a face off with a templar?"

The Warden smirked and chuckled softly. "An opportunity."

Cassandra sneered. "To do what?"

"To prove that the Chantry actually does follow the laws of the land all the time, instead of just when it suits them. She didn't have to demand her templars arrest us… especially just after an illegal attack by another templar. That pretty much set Aidan and his guards permanently on our side, especially once Anders got all their injuries fixed up."

"I know!" Cassandra said firmly, turning to face the narrow window so the Warden would not see her expression. "Your little ambuscade forced the ecclesiastical hierarchy into a position of compromise with the crown, just as you wanted."

"And we all know how little experience they have with that," the elf muttered.

That was it. The Seeker rounded on the Warden. "You were there! You could have accepted that the Revered Mother had no involvement, that her outburst was simply done in the heat of the moment, and forgiven her. You could have taken the responsibility to convene a trial yourself if you wanted her imprisoned. But no, had you done so you would have lost what little support you had among your vassals. Instead, you washed your hands of the situation _you_ created."

Kathryn tilted her head to one side, her long red hair falling away from her head. "I'm sorry. You think I had Morag sent to Denerim for trial because I didn't want to face the consequences of trying her in her own city? That the only other option was to let her go?"

Cassandra crossed her arms defiantly. "What other conclusion should I draw?"

The mage closed her eyes and shook her head despairingly. "She was directly involved with an attack on the Arlessa of the arling. I had unimpeachable witnesses to the fact. I could have had her summarily executed without bothering to drag the local magistrate from his wine cellar." She leaned forward. "I sent her to Denerim for trial because Alistair needed leverage over your bloody Chantry. He and Anora were delighted when Morag and Rylock arrived in chains. Do you have any idea the concessions the idiotic woman in charge of the Cathedral in Denerim had to give in order to… oh, I suppose you do."

"Yes," Cassandra replied sarcastically. "I do know. Just as I know that Ser Rylock was sacrificed as a scapegoat."

"No, Rylock was executed for treason. You know, those pesky laws that say you must not disobey your king. She proudly admitted setting up her own ambush at her trial, despite Alistair's order to let Anders go, expecting that the Chantry would back her. That might have worked in Amaranthine, but in Denerim there wasn't a great deal of good will towards you lot, whereas the Grey Wardens were practically considered Andraste's foot soldiers. Telling the world that you were trying to kill a Grey Warden just after a Blight must point to some level of derangement."

Cassandra threw her hands up in the air. "You know as well as I that Ser Rylock's trial was deliberately scheduled in the weeks following your defeat of the Architect and the Mother. Do not try and claim that the timing was anything other than a cynical ploy to demolish any support for her."

Kathryn shrugged. "Possibly. _Probably_. I wouldn't put it past Anora to have deliberately selected the date of her trial for maximum impact. But still, you must admit, bad-mouthing the Wardens in the city where we'd ended the Blight a half year previously? Highly unlikely to win you many friends. Perhaps the lyrium-rot in her brain started early? Anyway, she finally realised her predicament when the priests at the trial refused to speak up in support. I wish I could have seen her face."

"So, a good woman died to sate your bloodlust," the Seeker sneered.

Kathryn chuckled softly, not the least perturbed by her venom. "I'll admit that I was satisfied to hear that she was hanged, but I was not consulted on her punishment. Had I been, I'd have pushed for Morag to join her on the gallows."

Cassandra took a deep breath and let it out explosively. There was no point in rehashing that situation. It had been resolved years before she had joined the ranks of the Unblinking Eye. Two templars had been killed in the warehouse, four more reassigned, one hanged and one Revered Mother demoted and sent to a convent, her life purchased dearly - with long-accumulated power and influence relinquished. Queen Anora had been most pertinacious in _those _negotiations.

It was just another ignoble defeat for those in the Chantry who still thought it possible to destroy the Warden.

As much as it galled her that such a powerful figure in the Chantry had been brought so low, Cassandra had to admit that the Warden had played the Amaranthine Chantry-folk perfectly for fools. Rylock had haphazardly manufactured a crude trap, only to have it reversed and sprung on the Revered Mother in a most obdurate manner.

If only Revered Mother Morag hadn't made that outburst foretelling the Warden's execution. If only Ser Rylock had retained the presence of mind not to Smite the city's guards.

If only Rylock had let go of her hatred of the mage Anders.

"How did your mage friend take it?" she asked, suddenly very weary of tales of idiocy she could not change.

o_ooo000ooo_o

Despite his post-Smite trembling, Anders was amazingly chipper once his nemesis had been effectively neutered. He actually wanted to heal Rylock so that she was alert as she was taken away. I convinced him that leaving her unconscious would be better for the guards. They were going to have to deal with the woman when she woke up.

At any rate, despite the fact that he had just been essentially sold out by a friend, Anders' mood was light. We found a nearby food vendor in the market district and ate hot stew until our bellies were full and the after-effects of the Holy Smite were diminished. Once Anders was more or less back to normal, he and Oghren began to banter back and forth with quite amusing zeal.

A merchant guild representative almost wet himself in relief when he recognised us as Grey Wardens. He had, as I was coming to expect, a few jobs that various members of his guild needed done.

I gestured towards the empty wagons parked in an alley behind him. "Are things so tough that you can't restock?"

He gave a self-deprecating shrug. "There are so many bandits out there that anyone with a loaded wagon is a target."

I stared at him for a moment before an enormous smile grew on my face, and I turned a twinkling eye to Oghren.

He returned my expression with an evil grin of his own and with a steely crash, smashed one fist into the other palm. "That's my girl!"

* * *

><p>It took only a little negotiation and a couple of sovereigns, but within an hour we left Amaranthine, each of us at the reins of an ox-drawn wagon. Our destination - the supposed rift in the earth with the oddly unobservant darkspawn.<p>

Nathaniel and I were obliged to give our companions some instruction on the correct driving technique. My dour companion even gently corrected some bad habits I'd developed on the way to Highever. Oghren and Anders were both quick studies, and after a few hours on the road I calculated that it would only take us an extra half-day to travel to the spot Colbert marked on the map.

The wagons served quite satisfactorily in their purpose as bandit-lures. Despite the initial misgivings of both Anders and Nathaniel, by the first night on the road they agreed that having the cowardly bastards come to us was far more effective than actively chasing them all over the countryside.

After each brief and bloody encounter, Thunder stuck his nose to the ground and led us to the ex-bandits' camp, where we finished what had been started on the road. The wagons ended up being quite necessary for carrying all the bandits' unearned belongings.

Sharing out the accumulated loot was quite pleasant as far as evening entertainment went. Anders and Oghren even had a crude game of chance going to determine the eventual owner, or at least 'drinker', of a particularly large bottle of Orlesian brandy.

Eventually, they somehow both 'lost' the game and ended up sharing the bottle. Nathaniel watched them with dark amusement, before looking at me with a calculating expression.

"Spit it out, I won't bite," I said mildly.

He gave a wry smile and a soft, almost inaudible chuckle. "Am I that transparent?"

I gave a neutral hum without agreeing. "Aedan Cousland asked me the same thing."

His sharp features lost any amusement. "You know Aedan?"

Nodding, I said, "He and I travelled together a couple of times after the Blight. Fergus was with us too, for the first trip."

Nathaniel gave a deep sigh, and tossed a twig into the fire. "We were friends, Fergus and I. When we were children, I mean. He and I were almost of an age, there's only a couple of years between us. Aedan is a quite a few years younger." He paused, staring deep into the flickering flames.

I decided to remain diplomatically quiet on the topic, and waited for him to resume.

"We drifted apart as we grew older. Once he reached his majority, Fergus was always off on some diplomatic mission or other; with, or for, his father. That left us little time to socialize. He came back with a fiancee after one trip. Neither Teyrn Bryce nor my father were too impressed with his decision; I'm pretty sure father wanted to match Fergus with Delilah."

I shifted into a different position and scratched Thunder's ears, to his delight. "Aedan told me that Rendon seemed keen to match Delilah with him."

Nathaniel shook his head. "Not likely. I don't doubt that father said it, just that he didn't mean it. Fergus was Bryce's heir, remember. And while Aedan was always going to inherit some landholding, it was never going to be an important one. Not important enough for father, at any rate. He had a burning ambition to improve the station of the Howes."

I considered that. "I think he had a burning ambition to improve the station of Rendon Howe first, the Howes as a family second."

Nathaniel's eyes flashed dangerously. "What makes you say that?" he demanded.

I sighed deeply. "His last words."

He swallowed hard. "What... what were they?"

"Maker spit on you. I deserved more."

There was silence for a time. Eventually, Nathaniel said, "I hated him. When he sent me into exile. It was like he was washing his hands of me."

I nibbled on a trail biscuit as I considered his words. Across the fire, Oghren and Anders had finished the brandy and were sharing some of the dwarf's seemingly limitless supply of moonshine. "It's possible he was hedging his bets. You were his heir, after all. Sending you away gave you both plausible deniability and kept you safe in case his plans came to nought."

"Hardly a comfort," he growled. "And given what Delilah told me, his plans were either going to leave him rich and powerful, or reviled and hunted. What's the point of keeping his heir safe then?"

"True," I replied. "But his plans were illegal. You don't strike me as the sort to just meekly accept slave trading."

Nathaniel frowned. "Slaving? What are you talking about?"

I described, in general terms, the awful trade I disrupted in Denerim. The fact that there were almost no elves in Amaranthine indicated that things in Rendon's own demesne were a little more progressed.

"I really wish I didn't believe you," the Howe scion said. "It's both unbelievable and obvious at the same time."

"For what it's worth, I don't think your father was acting in his right mind."

Nathaniel raised his head and stared straight into my eyes. "What do you mean?"

"It wasn't just slavers, the nominal leader of them was a maleficar. He used Blood Magic to control the elves he purchased. While I have no proof, I also have no doubt he used his magic to at least influence both Loghain and Rendon into agreeing to his proposal. As much as they needed the coin, I can't see Loghain agreeing to sell Ferelden citizens. Even if they were elves."

His eyes widened. "Father was controlled by a Blood Mage?"

I shook my head. "No. It's painfully obvious when someone is a thrall. But someone of Caladrius' skill wouldn't need to dominate people to get them to do his bidding. Just... make them a bit more pliable. Perhaps wave some gold under their nose while amplifying their base greed. You've no doubt seen people bend themselves into all sorts of illogical shapes to justify decisions they made rather than admit they were wrong."

"But maybe his decision to attack Highever was made when..."

I held up a hand. "No. I'm sorry, but your father was tricked into believing that Bryce Cousland was a traitor long before Caladrius came to Ferelden. An Orlesian agent fed him manufactured 'evidence'."

Nathaniel had no difficulty in believing that the Orlesians had a direct hand in his family's woes. "What happened to this agent?" he demanded.

"She's dead," I replied. "Alistair was with me when we confronted her, and helped go through her effects, so he's got some direct knowledge of the sort of tactics bards use to infiltrate the upper echelons of society."

Our soft conversation was interrupted by some aggrieved shouting.

"You said it was good!" Oghren bellowed from across the camp, waving a leather skin around.

"I did not!" Anders shouted back, his enunciation a little fuzzy.

"Yes you did. 'Excellent', you said!"

"I said 'excerable'!"

"Exactly!" Oghren pointed out.

I covered my eyes. "Oghren?" I called out. "'Excerable' doesn't mean good. The opposite, more or less."

He blinked his mildly unfocused eyes. "Eh? Really?"

"'Fraid so."

He scratched his beard. "Huh? You sure?"

"Pretty sure."

* * *

><p>The rest of the short trip was uninteresting, with the exception of the bandit attacks. By the time we got to the indicated spot, our wagons were half full of useful loot. We parked them in a sheltered, flat spot and set up some crude barriers to keep the oxen from wandering too far. Anders, Nathaniel and I surrounded the wagons with runes, glyphs and traps to protect the liberated cargo.<p>

It turned out that 'rift' was quite an apt description. As Oghren rightly pointed out, it looked as though the dwarves had built a section of the Deep Roads too close to the surface, and it had fallen in.

And not recently either. Someone had gone to the trouble of partially excavating the fallen rock and building a series of walkways and scaffolding down into the abyss. Time and poor assembly had left it rickety and creaking, making the descent heart-thumping in the buffetting, unpredictable winds. I had to coax Thunder into attempting the descent.

We did find Micah's bag at the bottom, which gave me some cause for relief. I'd have hated to have spent a whole soveriegn for a fairytale.

A dozen or so deepstalkers tried ambushing us, with a spectacular lack of success. As it was quite late in the day, Oghren and I set about skinning the creatures and carving up the choicer cuts while Anders set up a cooking rock.

Once the rock was almost glowing with heat from Anders' fire magic, we began frying the deepstalkers. Before they were ready however, the uncomfortable, itchy-scalp sensation of nearby darkspawn set me on edge, and I ordered my Wardens to be ready. Thunder's ears pricked, and his attention was drawn away from the remains of the deepstalker carcasses and towards the darkness within the rift opening. A sudden nearby clash of metal on metal caused each of us to jump for our weapons, and we raced along the exposed highway.

The few darkspawn I could sense nearby were hardly going to be a challenge. I thought we were prepared for anything.

We weren't. Who would be prepared to meet a dead dwarf with a smile like a sunrise?

o_ooo000ooo_o

AN: Thanks again to my reviewers - MB18932, Eucharion, Pintsizedpsycho, Nightbrainzz, SgtGinger, ShyWriter413, Arsinoe de Blassenville and Alifangirl21.

Much of the dialogue has been lifted directly from DA:A, some modified heavily. The next chapter will be up in a couple of weeks - I've got some long days at work coming up...

Til then, enjoy.


	16. The dead warrior

disclaimer type=standard

Anything you recognise is Bioware's. I daresay anything else belongs to them too.

/disclaimer

o_ooo000ooo_o

"That was where you met the dwarf Sigrun, yes?"

Kathryn nodded. "That's right."

Cassandra paused. "Is she as… exuberant… as reported?"

The Warden laughed, clear and loud. "Oh yes. Probably more so. She fully embraced the doctrines of the Legion of the Dead when she joined. She considers herself already dead, and has no fear of her mortality. But that doesn't stop her from enjoying every second of life, and she doesn't see any contradiction in doing so. The Wardens she trains and mentors all embrace the views of the Legion to some extent, since it's not a stretch to see the Wardens as similarly dead. It makes them better warriors, oddly. They're not afraid to take risks."

The Seeker nodded silently. The martial skills of the Ferelden Grey Wardens had become legendary in the past decade. Ever since the Order's near extinction at Ostagar, they had never lost a single major battle. Giving the mantle of leadership to Kathryn Surana had been a simple decision at the time, but she had not deferred to the First Warden's orders or views ever since. Where any other Warden-Commander in Thedas would have been removed quickly, moving against her had first been seen as ungrateful, then unwise, then unthinkable. She had taken a shattered Order and forged it into a force more powerful, man-for-man, than any other in Thedas.

The dwarves Sigrun and Oghren had passed on their own brand of fighting that considered self-preservation unimportant. When those skills were combined with the stealthy combat training given by certain Antivan Crows, the strict, formal structure of templar martial training, the overpowering techniques developed by the Qunari Beresaad and the unbelievable skills of the rediscovered Arcane Warrior art, it was no wonder that all other militaries around Thedas, including the other Grey Wardens, considered the Fereldan Wardens preeminent. Even the Qunari avoided engaging them.

"I am curious about her," Cassandra said softly. "She embodies some of the most admirable traits those of us who follow Andraste aim for."

o_ooo000ooo_o

Who'd have guessed that anyone being dragged off to become a broodmother would have such a cheery outlook?

"Well... that was... close," the bubbly dwarf said in a voice that sounded like bottled laughter. "For a moment there I thought I was really about to join the Legion of the Dead."

I helped her to her feet. "Are you all right?"

"I might have cracked a rib, but it's hard to be sure. Everything hurts." She poked at one side with her hand, wincing at the pain. Her face was covered with tattoos signifying her casteless status.

I turned to my companions. "Anders?"

"On it," he replied, his staff already in motion. With sublime skill that sent a pang of envy through my heart, he sent a wave of potent healing magic over the injured dwarf woman.

She raised a hand to object. "No, no, I'm fine. I just need to catch my bre… oh my. Oh my, that's good. Wow! That's magic is it?"

He gave her a charming smile. "Just a little bit of healing magic, that's all. How do you feel now?"

She rolled her shoulders and tilted her head from side to side. "By the stone, this is fantastic." She took a deep breath in through her nose and let it out through her mouth. "Thanks! You really saved my butt there. But I can't chat for long. I should probably go back... as foolish as that sounds... see if there's anything I can do."

"Back?" I prompted.

She pointed with a thumb over her shoulder. "The old fortress of Kal'Hirol. There's something going on there. I think the darkspawn are breeding an army. The Legion went to investigate, but Kal'Hirol proved too much for us. It was a massacre. And now I... I'm the only one left."

Ah, I knew what it was like to be the last of your order. But the idea that there was an old dwarven outpost under Amaranthine had my heart thumping with excitement. "Is this Kal'Hirol one of the lost thaigs?"

Her smile grew broader at my question. "Yes, well, not exactly. It wasn't one of the twelve great thaigs, just a fortress. But there was an established population living there, and they considered it one of the lesser thaigs, but now the darkspawn have moved in."

I scowled. "These darkspawn need to be eradicated," I said, more to my companions than our new friend.

She grinned at me and piped up with, "That's what we thought: 'Oh, we'll just run in there, eradicate the darkspawn and be back in time for supper.' Well... whoops. The darkspawn have changed; they're smart now. They destroyed the Legion. I saw them taking some of the women and I wasn't about to stick around for that."

I shuddered. "Good decision."

The thought even managed to temporarily wipe the smile from her face. "There are many things much works than death, and birthing darkspawn day and night is probably the worst. But if the darkspawn are really breeding an army... I can't stay here. I have to do something..."

I nodded at her determination. "We are Grey Wardens. We'll go to Kal'Hirol."

She blinked, looking very surprised. "Huh. That's convenient. The ancestors must have had a hand in this. I'll show you where Kal'Hirol is. Safety in numbers, yes?"

Brave, cheerful in the face of death, and apparently skilled enough to survive when an entire Legion could not. It was no great stretch to guess what I was planning. As if Oghren's leering nod of approval wasn't enough. "All right. Come with us. This is Anders, Oghren and Nathaniel. I'm Kathryn, and this big fellow is Thunder."

She waved a greeting to each of us in turn, but looked a little wary at Thunder's sharp teeth behind his doggy smile, lolling tongue and curious nose. Given my mabari's jaws were pretty much at her eye-height, I didn't begrudge her that. Still, despite her caution, she blurted, "Excellent. With your help, destroying this nest is no longer impossible, merely... improbable!"

Anders rolled his eyes. "Oh. An optimist then..."

She poked her tongue out at him and almost skipped away down the way the darkspawn were dragging her. "Let's not waste time. Kal'Hirol awaits, and darkspawn, when left to their own devices, get up to all kinds of nonsense."

"Well, we can't have that," I said, trotting along. "I don't like darkspawn nonsense."

Her name was Sigrun, and she had the sort of militant cheer that would either grate on your nerves or draw you out of the deepest depression. She didn't know much about Kal'Hirol, by her own admission. It had been a centre of learning for the smith caste. When the fortress fell, a lot of what the smiths had learned was lost with it. The dwarves had never managed to replicate the place.

As we approached the thaig, we found one of Sigrun's comrades dying in the shadow of a ruined archway. The dwarf's name was Jukka, and he refused any healing, claiming that his death would be a release. Before he passed, he charged us with destroying the broodmothers and warned us of something called the children.

Sigrun said some ritual words and rose to her feet, doubly determined to end the darkspawn threat.

We fought our way through to the entrance of the fortress, less than a fifteen-minute march from the surface. At the main entrance to Kal'Hirol, grub-like creatures spilled out from every conceivable hiding place to attack. The buggers had sharp teeth, and sometimes rose up on their rear legs to attack, leaving their undersides vulnerable. Nathaniel had to drop his bow and take up his blades, which dealt limited damage. Oghren however had significant success in fighting the creatures, swinging his axe in vast, underhand arcs, splitting the carapaces like walnut shells.

They were tainted; my growing skill in sensing darkspawn told me that. Were they a new kind of darkspawn? Ogres had only appeared since the Qunari invasion of Thedas, the spawn of captured Qunari women. What creature had spawned these things? Or were they the result of some magical experiment? I shook my head to clear it of distracting questions. They'd have to be answered another day.

Sigrun pointed at the main entrance. With a deep sigh, she said, "The Legion got this far with no trouble. We got careless, and complacent, and stormed the main entrance, up those stairs. It was a disaster. The darkspawn were waiting. They turned the thaig's old defences against us." Even through her cheerful demeanour, I could see the pain.

Oghren and I shared a glance. "Would Kal'Hirol have a hidden side entrance? Like the one we found at Bownammar?"

She looked up at me and nodded with a smile, her innate cheer shining through her gloom once more. "Most of the old dwarven fortresses had hidden side entrances. I bet this one does too. We just need to find it."

Knowing it was around was half the problem solved. Nathaniel called us over to a hidden lever, which when pulled, caused a section of wall, no different from the rest, to slide down into the earth.

Anders grinned at the sight. "I once started a rumour about hidden passages in the Tower. Had the templars pressing their noses into the walls for months. Hilarious!"

I let my mouth drop open. "That was you?"

He gave me a bow. "Indeed."

I strode over to him, grabbed his ears and planted a kiss on his lips.

"There. I promised that if I ever found out who started that rumour, I'd kiss them."

He coughed and blushed. I spun on my heel and strode over to the entrance to the thaig, leaving him wondering what had just happened. Sigrun trotted up beside me. "You didn't really promise that, did you?" she whispered.

I shook my head. "Of course not. But you've got to take your chances when you get them."

She grinned, then gave me a conspiratorial wink and a thumbs up.

The hidden passage ended in a one-sided door. Unfortunately, the darkspawn behind the door could sense me, and while they were not lined up to ambush us, they weren't exactly caught off guard either. Oghren charged through without regard for personal safety, and I threw a fireball at one large cluster, placing and timing the spell so that the berserker wasn't affected by the blast.

An incoming fireball from one of the darkspawn was unexpected. And given our position within a bottleneck, nastily effective.

My armour offered me significant protection. Poor Thunder however was seriously burned by the spell; his yelps of pain made me wince with sympathy. Anders and Nathaniel were blown off their feet by the shockwave. Sigrun managed to ride out the blast, but had to drop to the floor and roll to put out the flames licking at her leather armour.

I shook the ringing from my ears and took in the scene. Both sides were struggling to their feet, but with Oghren whirling his axe through the rising darkspawn, we were not in any real danger.

I picked out the probable spell caster, carefully judging the distance between us. I planted my feet and speared Spellweaver towards the sk-, towards the rocks overhead. The spell I loosed flooded the area around the darkspawn mage with an expanding wave of negative mana - a mage's version of a Holy Smite. Few knew the spell; finding its particulars written down was rare - I only found it in Irving's private collection when I ransacked the Tower during Uldred's rebellion. It was also difficult to cast. The effect was not in question though, the darkspawn screamed his throat bloody as his mana reserves were forcibly torn from his soul.

He collapsed, dead before he landed. It there was ever a spell that could be described as a mage-killer, this was it.

The rest of the tainted monsters did not put up much of a fight. The mage had a control rod that managed the golems arrayed around the main entrance. Unfortunately, he did something with it that caused each of the stone sentries to topple over backwards, unusable.

Sigrun and Nathaniel disarmed the pressure-plate traps all over the entrance hall. I shook my head at the thought of trying to storm in here through the front door, over traps, through a half-dozen golems and darkspawn magic. We might have accomplished it, but we had magic of our own, both a powerful healer and a death-dealer. The Legion didn't have those advantages. No wonder they was massacred.

We stomped on a few random darkspawn, and even found a golem that activated on being touched with the control rod. Unfortunately, it refused to accept any orders to follow us, remaining in the Main Hall entrance, alert for any approaching darkspawn. As useful as having a golem was, having one defending our path of retreat was a close second.

We moved further into the fortress. The first time we saw the ghostly images of dwarves and darkspawn fighting, Thunder whimpered and hid behind me. I could understand his reticence, the sight was very disturbing. Silvery, translucent blood would fly from spectral wounds and land on stone long stained by the ancient blood. It felt wrong to watch, as though it were some perverse, voyeuristic game.

A spectre in one looping scene called for other, ragged-looking ghosts to rally against the darkspawn. As uncomfortable as the images were, it gave us an incredible glimpse of the final days of Kal'Hirol.

The fortress fell even before the darkspawn arrived. Many dwarves of the noble caste simply left before the horde reached the thaig. The casteless that stayed behind helped defend the fortress, giving those who left time enough to get to safety. Sigrun was quite overcome as more and more ghostly images of dwarves with nothing to live for rose to the call and died for something meaningful.

It wasn't as though the thaig was empty though. The darkspawn had looted it quite thoroughly; one painted disciple had close to ten sovereigns in its pockets. One emissary had a staff with enchantments and power that made Anders almost weep. We found a tomb with armour pieces made for - or more probably by - the paragon Hirol. But the real wealth was the lore. We collected documents detailing lost smithing skills and rune tracings that were beyond the most powerful runes I'd ever seen. Beyond any that even the dwarves in our group had seen.

Once the Main Hall entryway was cleared of all living darkspawn, we entered the fortress proper. Sigrun pointed out carved hieroglyphs in the walls that identified it as the Trade Quarter.

Where we made a pleasant discovery. There was a civil war going on among the darkspawn. Watching your enemies rip each other to shreds was a very satisfying pastime. I even broke out some trail rations and tossed a baked doggie treat to Thunder. We leaned against the polished walls and observed darkspawn of two different groups reduce their own strength by half.

Anders pulled an apple out of a pocket and began crunching. "You know," he observed around half-chewed fruit as pointed down at the monsters below, hacking each other apart, "I honestly thought fighting darkspawn would be a bit more involved than this. "

Oghren gave a half-grunt, half-snarl. "Usually is. Come on, Kat, you're letting the sodding darkspawn have all the fun!"

"Oh come on," Anders whined. "Look at them! Red team and blue. Don't you find it funny at all?"

"Sparkle-fingers, the day I let a bunch of darkspawn take my fun is the day I let the stone take me. Now, is anyone coming, or am I going to have all the fun myself?"

* * *

><p>We continued through the thaig, killing the remnants of the darkspawn civil war. The thaig proved to be a true monument to smithing and all its levels of art, since in one section, we discovered a still-functioning golem that seemed to be constructed to repair damaged equipment. Oghren pointed out a cart of iron ore of such high quality that Wade would start hyperventilating. But both Anders and I were drawn to something quite a bit more mundane than an automated smithy.<p>

"Maker's breath! Would you look at that!" I breathed.

Anders sank to his knees next to a metal vessel large enough to function as a small bath. "I'm looking, I'm looking," he whispered.

Nathaniel blinked in surprise at our actions. "What is it? What's that stuff?"

"Lyrium," Oghren and Sigrun said together, before looking at each other and snorting in amusement.

"That's what mages use for their magic, isn't it?"

I shrugged. "No. But if it helps you think of it like that… then yes. Sure."

"It's a bit more than that, Nate," Anders said running his hands up the side of the container, looking for imperfections. "This is refined lyrium. To the point of being almost pure, I think."

He still sounded confused. "So?"

Sigrun looked up at the dour noble. "So that looks like quite a bit. I've never seen so much in one place before."

"Me neither," Anders said, his eyes still alight.

I turned to Oghren. "Remember the box I smuggled from Dust Town to the Circle Tower?"

"Aye."

I jerked my head towards our companions. "Tell them how big it was."

He frowned, but held his hands out a couple of hand-widths apart. "About yay big, I'd say," he said in his gravelly voice.

I nodded. "And that contained sixty sovereigns worth of raw lyrium."

Nathaniel whistled through his teeth, suddenly looking at the large vessel in a new light. Sigrun's eyes widened in astonishment. Oghren looked impressed, but Anders seemed taken aback at the revelation that I'd indulged in a little light heresy. "Huh, I've always fancied life as a lyrium smuggler. We should join forces. Maybe I'll wear a dashing chapeau!"

Sigrun frowned. "A what?"

"A kind of wimpy, Orlesian hat," Nathaniel supplied, deadpan.

Anders winked at him, trying to get a smile. It didn't work. "I used to be a good little Andrastian. I said my prayers, repented my sins-all of it."

"You? Repentant?" Nathaniel said, eyebrows raised in disbelief.

"Hey!" Anders said, in lieu of an actual objection.

"You're a Grey Warden now," I interjected.

"Right! Death to the darkspawn! Rah." This was said with a notable lack of enthusiasm. It appeared that his forced conscription was hanging over him. Bloody Alistair.

I tried cheering him up, but in the midst of a darkspawn-infested fortress, it was all just words. And he knew it.

* * *

><p>Further in, we another vessel full of refined lyrium, which almost sent Anders and I into paroxysms of delight. To balance that, we found a looter infected with the taint hiding in a cage. He begged for release, offering to exchange what treasures he had found for his freedom. Despite his desperate claim that he was free of the corruption, but I could sense the darkness in his veins. Without some archdemon blood however, I had no way of 'curing' him, even had he presented some desirable qualities.<p>

I told him that as a Warden, I knew he was tainted, but that he had a chance to live. He fearfully accepted, and I turned around to mix up a vial of some ingredients. I passed him the resultant container of green liquid. He gulped it down, ignorant of the fact that it was one of Zevran's recipes. He died peacefully and without pain, slowly falling into a deep, endless sleep.

"That was a kind thing you did," Sigrun offered as I stripped the body of valuables and tossed his remains into the lava pit below.

I hummed a sound that sounded like agreement, even if I wasn't sure. I felt dirty having to make such decisions.

I was distracted fro my funk soon after. The disgusting little tainted grubs we'd seen outside the fortress were inside too, feasting on the darkspawn belonging to the side that had come second in their recent vigorous debate. The things sprouted spindly limbs that enabled them to move with startling speed. Oghren adjusted the timing of his swings and was soon making darkspawn paste once again.

We found more tombs, and more impressive armour and weapons. We stumbled across the treasury too, which made the eyes of all my companions' light up. Suddenly, the wagons we left outside were quite literally worth their weight in gold.

We continued killing everything with the taint, travelling deep into the fortress.

* * *

><p>In the deepest part of the fortress, we found two darkspawn generals discussing their differences; one serving someone called an Architect, the other someone called the Mother. Since the one who followed the Mother had an enormous, fiery, lava-fuelled golem on his side, the result of their disagreement wasn't in question.<p>

It was a right bugger to put that thing down.

Elemental cold worked very well, as did spells of paralysis. Anders and I kept the big metal killing machine busy while our companions set about killing the other darkspawn general. They finished him off just a little too late. By the time he hit the stone, I was lying on my back halfway across the room with a crushed arm, busted ribs and torn armour straps, while Anders ran from the flailing fists.

Thunder was of no real use against the golem, his claws and teeth did nothing to even scratch the surface metal. Nathaniel distracted it with his arrows, keeping it from catching Anders, but did little damage. Sigrun was a delight, intelligently striking out at the golem's knees and ankles to restrict its movements. The enchanted mace she'd picked up in the fortress worked wonderfully.

Oghren barreled in, heedless of danger as usual. His enchanted axe was easily the most effective weapon we had, and the relatively tiny warrior even managed to knock the hulking thing down a time or two.

Through my streaming eyes and clenched teeth, I suddenly felt a bony grinding. Azure power seeped into my arm, straightening and then fusing the broken bones back into place. "Are you all right?" Anders said hurriedly, still examining my wounds.

I coughed, covering his face with bloody spray. "Ow," I said as clearly as I could manage.

"Yeah, I figured that hurt," he said with a smile as more healing power flowed from his hands into me. "The way you sailed across the room in a great big arc was really quite graceful. The sudden stop at the end, not so much."

"Oghren was right," I wheezed out, still fighting back the pain. "Mage comedians suck."

He glanced up at the continuing battle. Sigrun was knocked flat by one swinging fist, but Thunder leapt into the fray and attracted the golem's attention. At least my dog could outrun the lumbering thing.

"See to Sigrun," I hissed, sitting up. His work had been exemplary, if not complete.

"I'm not done here," he objected.

"Go!" I spat, summoning some power from the fade and partially freezing the golem. At least I could slow the bastard down while sitting on my arse.

The golem took a slow step towards Thunder, but the damage Sigrun had done to its legs caused it to fall forward. Its knees splintered the ancient stone beneath as they hit the floor. With it hunched over, Oghren leapt up on its back from directly behind and, with a mighty overhead smash, buried his axe deep into the golem's head. The blow almost split the metal head in two. It tottered briefly, before crashing to the floor.

Unfortunately, Oghren's axe was stuck hard in the metal, and as a matter of pride, Oghren refused to let the handle of any weapon go. As the metal behemoth fell forward Oghren's principles clashed with the principles of leverage. He was launched like a stone from a catapult. His scream of surprise echoed loudly in the enclosed room, but the sound of his landing trumped even that.

Oghren was significantly tougher than me though. He rose unsteadily to his feet, looking for all the world like he'd simply been sampling heavily from his clandestine still. "By the s-s-stone. Why's the f-floor m-moving?"

"It's not," Nathaniel supplied, casually unstringing his bow to check for signs of damage. Even after such a battle, he was calm and collected, performing all the little tasks that would ensure his equipment functioned at peak efficiency.

"S-sure it is," Oghren said, falling to one side with a series of metallic clangs.

"Nope," the noble replied, moving over to the dwarf. "Here, take my hand."

Oghren glared at the offered hand, his green eyes even more unfocused than usual. "Why you got th-three o' 'em?" he slurred.

From across the room, Anders called out, "Sounds like a concussion. Let him sit there, I'll fix him up in a moment."

I rose to my feet, sucking in air through my teeth at the sharp, jagged pains that shot through my side. "Well done, Wardens. Very well done indeed."

We rested there for a couple of hours, letting Anders do his work and to have something to eat. The man was a genius at healing.

Unfortunately, my armour was a mess. Not the scale itself - archdemon scales being one of the more durable substances known - but the straps. One swipe of those enormous fists had ruined them. Wade would need to re-strap the scale before I could use it again. I had a spare travelling robe back in the wagons, but until we got back topside, my modesty was dependent upon my stained and torn undershirt. It was hardly surprising that we'd found no elf-sized armour in Kal'Hirol.

Sigrun's armour was ruined completely. Her leather helmet, gauntlets and boots were barely serviceable between the fireball and constant darkspawn strikes, but the blow from the golem had split the chest piece in several places. Without Anders' skill, she likely would not have survived. There was however, plenty of high quality, if mismatched armour pieces around that fit her frame.

Once we were rested, we moved on, deeper into the fortress. The smell was our first warning of what was up ahead. Oghren, Sigrun, Thunder and I all recognised it.

Broodmother.

The tentacles were irritating, but knowing they were there was half the battle won. Oghren's enchanted axe could sever one at its base with one swing, and both mages of the party had the skill to freeze one solid. The slimy things didn't delay us long.

We found three broodmothers in a deep stone pit. Anders and Nathaniel both shivered in fear and disgust at the sight.

It was a most conveniently placed lyrium bomb that cleared out the broodmother threat. The explosion left afterimages on our eyelids and a high ringing in my ears that took Anders a couple of minutes to right.

Sigrun placed on foot on the crumbling ledge and carefully leaned out over the devastated hole in the stonework. "Well, it looks like you Wardens do deliver."

"You're welcome," I said lightly.

She returned my smile, but frowned and put forth some theories about the two factions of darkspawn. She seemed keen now that Kal'Hirol was secure to disappear back into the Deep Roads, but I wasn't about to lose such skilled help. I offered her a place in the Grey Wardens, which she accepted after only light encouragement.

"Oghren, Sigrun, could you identify all the removable objects that we can take?"

Sigrun spun to face me, her expressive face suddenly dark. "What?"

I smiled at her innocently. "We have some dwarves working at Vigil's Keep. I want them to examine what we can carry for authenticity before we send them to Orzammar."

Sigrun looked mollified that I was not intending to loot the artifacts from the thaig, and Oghren scoffed. "There ain't a scrap of stone here that hasn't been shaped by a dwarf. What do you need authenticity for?"

I grinned and rubbed my hands together. "Because I want Bhelen to drool over the historical treasures we send him. This arling is on the brink of ruin, and having hundreds of dwarves flooding into the arling to occupy and fortify this place will give every merchant and trader east of Redcliffe plenty of reason to send some goods for sale."

Nathaniel looked horrified. "You're just going to hand this place over to the dwarves? A fully defendable fortress in the middle of the arling?"

Sigrun frowned, her pretty face confused. "What are you talking about? There's no way King Bhelen could hold this place. There's too many darkspawn in the Deep Roads between here and Orzammar."

I gave them a wink. "Nathaniel, I do intend to hand this fortress over to Bhelen. Especially since in order to populate the thing he'll need our help. Once the Grey Wardens have built up their numbers a bit, I'll have some stationed here permanently to help fight the darkspawn. And Sigrun, providing a safe passage for his troops across the surface will be the best gift I could give Bhelen, and a maintaining a stable trading post to help supply the fortress."

Sigrun blinked at me. "You- you'd do that? You'd seriously do all that just to help the dwarves reclaim an old fortress?"

I nodded. "Yes. Without question."

"Why?" Nathaniel and Sigrun asked together. They looked at each other and then glanced away, both blushing slightly.

"A few reasons," I said as we made our way back up into the thaig. "But we can discuss them later. Let's take what we can and get out into the sun. I need to dress."

* * *

><p>I donned my spare robes the moment we were on the surface. I looked ludicrous, combining archdemon-scale gauntlets, boots and helmet with a flimsy mage robe. But at least my tits weren't poking out at inconvenient intervals. Nathaniel could stop turning his back every other step, but Anders gave a small sigh of disappointment. Oghren had seen it all before, for a couple of days even. He'd been with me after Flemeth had burned my robes off. After two days of semi-nakedness around him, I'd quickly developed a habit of carrying a spare robe.<p>

It took us nearly a full day to lug up everything we wanted to take. The prize, from my point of view, were the two vessels of pure lyrium. The Ferelden Grey Wardens were well stocked for lyrium for the next several centuries. The cart of iron ore was also carried out and loaded.

We happily looted the treasury of every coin, down to the last copper. We collected the best specimens of armour and weapons, and every book, scroll, note and scrap of parchment we could. Wagons loaded, we set off for Vigil's Keep.

The first night out from Kal'Hirol, I half-lay curled up against Thunder's enormous body. Lying down made it... itchy... for me to breath easily with my recently healed ribs, and I couldn't sleep sitting up straight. Thunder didn't seem to mind me using him as an ambulatory pillow.

Nathaniel strode over to me, carrying a bowl of steaming stew. "Here, Commander. Anders said to eat this. He put something in it."

"Thank you, Nathaniel. And again, please, it's Kathryn."

He gave me a rueful grin. "As you wish, Kathryn." He sat down next to me and pulled out a strip of jerky. He tore it in half and tossed one piece to Thunder, who accepted with a grateful bark and a wag of his stumpy tail.

"Do you have any idea what you've done to Amaranthine in the week you've been here?" he asked in an amused tone.

I shook my head as I spooned the thick stew into my mouth. Hmm, Anders had added elfroot and… something else. "Not really. What do you mean?"

He bit off a bit of jerky and chewed as he considered how to answer. "Morag, the Revered Mother of the Amaranthine Chantry… she has been a thorn in," he paused and corrected himself, "was a thorn in my father's side for decades. The old harridan would interfere in running the arling in all sorts of ways, and because she was a personal friend of my grandmother, my father had little option but to permit her liberties beyond her station."

"I can sympathise."

He gave a sort of grunting chuckle. "Not for long, you didn't. Maker's breath, you were in Amaranthine for less than a day! You turned an ambush for you into a trap for the curmudgeonliest woman imaginable, and it succeeded. My father tried to get her out of the Chantry for years - you did it in a couple of hours!"

I shook my head. "What she did with your father, the crap she pulled; was any of it illegal?"

"Not as such," he granted.

"Then you shouldn't compare the two. I set her up, yes. But she had the opportunity to side with me, to stay on the side of legality. But she decided to act against both the law and a Chantry-sanctioned treaty. She bet on her power over the law, and lost because the Wardens are not the doormats she's used to dealing with."

He nodded slowly, but there was a deep frown on his face. "I can see that, it's just that you seem to be so... unpredictable. You stood up to the Chantry, who are technically your allies, but who have the ability to make your life very difficult. And then you are willing to hand over a fortress under the arling to an armed force who are not sworn vassals. I can't begin to tell you the mistake you're making there."

I took a deep breath. "First, can I thank you?"

That stumped him. "For what?"

"For having the balls to tell me when you think I'm being stupid."

He looked down and cleared his throat. "I don't think you're being stupid per se, just... naive."

"Well, this is Fereldan we're speaking, if a word doesn't have half a dozen different meanings, it's just not trying hard enough."

"True enough," he chuckled.

I placed the half-eaten bowl down and stretched, wincing at the dull, persistent ache. "Okay, we have an underground fortress a couple of days march west-south-west of Amaranthine. What do you think I should do with it?"

"Do you mean I, the Grey Warden Commander or I, the Arlessa? Because there's a big difference."

I shrugged. "Give me your thoughts on both."

He rubbed his chin. "As Grey Wardens, we could use it as a base of operations. I know we have Vigil's Keep, but it would be tactically sound to have a second fortified base."

"A third."

He blinked. "Excuse me?"

I gestured off into the night, roughly to the northwest. "We already have a second fortified base. I cleared out Soldier's Peak during the Blight. A Grey Warden mage and a recruit inhabit the main tower there, and a merchant family use the location to store their inventory."

Nathaniel looked worried. "Soldier's Peak is a myth, Kathryn."

I shook my head. "I'll take you there one day. But go on, what should I do with Kal'Hirol as Arlessa?"

He didn't seem convinced, but accepted that I didn't tend to exaggerate my claims. "Fortify it. Clear it out and use it as a stronghold against bandits, darkspawn and uprisings. You could assign one of your vassals to it, give them the income from the surrounding lands, and let them assume the responsibilities to get it habitable."

I nodded. "All right. I can see your point of view. But tell me this. Do we have the manpower to take control? Do we have the resources to refit it? Given that it's underground, would we have volunteers to man the fortress? If not, would we need to forcibly conscript people?"

Nathaniel sighed. "No, I suppose not. And leaving it sit idle isn't really a good idea either, is it?"

I shook my head with a smile. "Not unless you want to clear darkspawn out of it every month or so. If we don't let the dwarves take it, it will drain our limited resources for a long time. It may never be productive in its own right. Plus, the dwarves would be bitchy, and Alistair wants to keep on good terms with them."

He sighed again, deeply this time. "I can see your point too. It's just that, from a military perspective, having a potentially hostile force two days from a major city is a recipe for disaster."

"Very true," I agreed. "But having a fortress full of dwarves between the arling and the darkspawn would be beneficial. And you have to understand that most dwarves won't even consider sticking their heads above ground, for whatever reason. Orzammar has sat inside the borders of Ferelden for centuries and we've never had a single instance of an invasion. Exiled dwarves tend to slip into surface life quite easily, and those born on the surface are quite happy to stay topside. But if you give them a choice, most dwarves would happily never even consider stepping into the sun."

"I need to learn more about them, it seems," he mused. "What did you mean about a supply post?"

"This is something we should talk about with all of us," I said. I figured that Alistair wouldn't mind if I told my Wardens what was going on. I raised a hand and called the others to come over.

Sigrun was the last; she was staring fixedly at the sky, her mouth open in wonder. "By my ancestors, your stars are amazing!"

Once everyone was seated, I gave a brief recap of my last trip to Orzammar. I left off Aedan's negotiations, focusing more on Alistair's offer to Bhelen. Oghren was impassive; he'd left Orzammar and was now considered outside the castes, but Sigrun was quite intrigued. Nathaniel understood the economic benefits of having a thousand dwarves nearby, all needing to be fed and supplied.

"But would King Bhelen send dwarves to Kal'Hirol when he's trying to reclaim Aeducan Thaig?" Anders asked.

Oghren grunted. "Aeducan Thaig is a wasteland. Everything of worth has been picked over by patrols and expeditions. It's mostly rubble now. Sure there's some old mineral veins, but it'll take a lot of work to get them running again. Kal'Hirol is a fortress, ready for someone with the balls to step in and claim it. There's working golems and equipment. The smith caste would all take up public nug-humping rather than leave it empty."

"Ew!" Sigrun cringed.

He barked a laugh at her. "We send some of the stuff we pulled out of Kal'Hirol back to Orzammar, Bhelen would beat off his own family for first grab. My guess is we'll see dwarves marching overland in a month."

Sigrun raised her hand. "Um, are you going to give all the things we took from Kal'Hirol to the dwarves?"

"Why?"

She looked a bit uncomfortable. "Well, it's just that, well," her voice dropped to a whisper, "we did do all the work..."

Oghren and I shared a glance, and a grin. "Well, I was thinking of making a copy of all the rune tracings and so forth before sending them on."

Oghren grumbled an agreement. "Aye, and that anvil we lugged out ought to go back too. Wade wouldn't have a clue what to do with it."

Anders got into the spirit. "Some of those ancient weapons should be returned, they might be family heirlooms."

I chuckled. "But that armour that belonged to Hirol would look good on you, Sigrun. Once we had it fitted properly."

She looked at me aghast. "Me? Wear a paragon's armour? Are you stone-kissed?"

I glanced at Oghren. "Stone-kissed?"

"She wants to know if you've been hit on the head with a rock."

"Ah. No, as a matter of fact, I have not. Why?"

She pointed at her facial markings. "I'm casteless! A paragon is the epitome of what it means to be a dwarf! I can't wear his armour!" She glanced around the fire at four amused faces. After a few seconds of silence, she added, "Can I?"

I turned to Oghren. "Think it'll fit?"

"Aye. With a bit of work around the... heh... the breastplate."

I grinned at Sigrun. "Well, there you go. Once we're back at the Vigil and you've done your Joining, we'll get Wade to measure you up and sort you out with a proper set of armour."

She slumped back, suddenly thoughtful. "Huh. I was just going to ask about all the gold we took out of the treasury."

I shrugged. "Well, some of it should go to the Wardens. Say, half. We need to be able to outfit our new recruits with the best equipment available when they come on board. But I reckon the rest should be split evenly amongst us. Thoughts?"

Oddly, there wasn't a single dissenting vote.

* * *

><p>The next day we trundled along, beating off bandit attacks every couple of hours. As we passed one farmstead, we interrupted an ambush on someone else for a change. Once the encounter had ended in a predictable fashion, the original target gratefully donated a purse of gold and promised to meet with us at Vigil's Keep.<p>

We arrived back at the Keep a day later, despite all the little delays caused by Sigrun's insatiable desire to turn over logs, pick grass and chase birds. I couldn't in good conscience tell her to stop; she reminded me of me, just after I'd left the tower. The sensation of grass between your bare toes was incredible when all you could remember was stone underfoot.

Herron and Wade were initially stunned into a delighted silence at the sight of our cargo, for very different reasons. The lava-fuelled golem's carapace had the smith all but dancing a jig in delight, while Herron whooped as we unloaded ore and weapons.

The dwarf brothers examined our finds with awe, pointing out characteristics in the weapons we'd missed. They were most impressed with the tablets and lore we retrieved, begging that they be sent to the Shaperate in Orzammar for cataloging. I suggested that they start putting together a sample collection of artifacts while I wrote a letter to Bhelen explaining their origin. The rest could be stored here safely until the Shaperate sent someone to pick it up. Both jumped to the task with glee.

One of the sergeants reported that the cellars had been excavated. It revealed an entrance to the Deep Roads that even Nathaniel had been unaware of.

Rather than see to the entrance myself, I delegated the task to Oghren, Nathaniel and Anders. They took Thunder and followed the sergeant while I took Sigrun into the Keep to meet with Varel.

My seneschal seemed quite pleased at having another potential Warden, and assisted Sigrun as I prepared the Joining potion and herbal tea. Less than an hour later, we stood in the hall. We shared the tea and I recited the welcoming words.

Varel stepped forward, holding the golden goblet. "From this moment forth, Sigrun, you are a Grey Warden."

She could hardly keep herself from smiling. "So let it be."

The tough little dwarf teetered for a moment, but fell over backwards, here eyes as white as milk. Varel hovered over her momentarily before pronouncing, "You chose her well, Commander. She will awaken shortly."

I smiled inwardly. Sigrun would be a most welcome addition to the Grey Wardens. "Yes. Thank you Varel, I'll stay with her. Could you please get me some parchment, quill and ink?"

"As you wish, Commander."

I covered her with a blanket and sat next to her. A servant provided me with the requested materials, and I drafted a letter to the king of the dwarves that was hopefully both an invitation and a lure.

Sigrun began to stir, her pretty face screwed up in fear. Soon, she burst awake, perspiration beading on her forehead. I calmed her quickly, and explained what a dream was. We covered the usual unpleasant topics, none of which bothered her in the slightest. Indeed, the idea that she would be even more energetic appeared most satisfactory.

Our companions entered the hall with expressions an odd mixture of delight that Sigrun survived, and seriousness that an ancient wraith had been imprisoned beneath the Keep. Fortunately, they had proven themselves fully capable of dealing with the foul apparition, and had ended its existence in the family crypt.

Nathaniel proudly showed off a bow with the Howe family crest burned into the wood. The weapon had apparently been in his family for generations, and he was keen to reclaim it. I nodded along and agreed that the bow was a magnificent specimen.

The conversation grew quite stilted and uncomfortable, I seemed to have missed something; something obvious. Grinning wildly, Anders poked Nathaniel in the side and pointed out that the reason I wasn't giving him explicit permission to keep the bow was that I didn't think that it was needed. Nathaniel blushed slightly, but gave me his heartfelt thanks and a huge smile - well, huge for a Howe. Anders excitedly showed me his grand find, a new method for brewing a lyrium potion. To my expert eye, it looked as though the results would be even more potent than my best efforts. An incredible find.

Varel interrupted our gathering to request my presence at court. Several claimants had arrived after I'd left for Amaranthine to petition me on some issue or another.

I stuffed Sigrun full of hot food and sent her to bed to rest. I then gave each of my other Wardens some tasks. Oghren went to assist the Glavonak brothers, Anders to electrify some more alchemical potions, and Nathaniel to assist me.

I had to use all my willpower to remain outwardly calm as I was called to rule on crimes and disputes. I hadn't been given anything in the way of instruction, let alone warning. Suddenly, my decision to recruit Nathaniel turned out to be an act of unadulterated genius.

One poor sod had stolen some grain to feed his family. He was looking at the noose simply because he'd nicked the stuff from me. Rather than have his family starve for want of a provider, I ordered him to join my army, where he'd be paid and his family fed. A pair of nobles disputing the income from a toll bridge in the south of the arling were next. Nathaniel's father had formally removed the asset from one noble and given it to another based solely on the support of that noble. There was even documentation to support the claim.

"So, if your father could just take it from one of his vassals and hand it to another, why would it not be legal for me to do the same?" I asked Nathaniel in a hushed whisper.

"It would be legal," he shrugged. "That's why they're petitioning you. They both know that you need to build support. In this case, you will lose the support from one of them. In my opinion, the potential gains would not support one over the other. Ser Derren is a capable sort, and his family did build the bridge in question. But as she's more wealthy, Lady Liza has more influence among the nobles."

I rubbed my chin. "Which of them is _more_ capable?"

He did not hesitate. "Lady Liza is renowned for being useless at anything except shopping. Ser Derren, unquestioningly. As an administrator, that is. He's not a warrior if that's what you're asking."

"It's not. Thank you." I turned back to the two nobles. "I shall let the matter stand as it is. Lady Liza shall retain the income from the bridge. Ser Derren, would you please remain after this court rests. I have an opportunity for you."

Liza seemed pleased with the result, giving Derren a superior smirk. Derren frowned at the decision, but agreed to meet later.

Varel growled as the next case was brought forward. The knight who'd warned me of a conspiracy had been found slain, and the noble before me discovered covered in blood fleeing the scene. He made no plea for mercy, no denial of the crime; he simply stated as fact that he was noble born, and thus not answerable to the common folk who had arrested him.

Varel and Garavel both looked frustrated at the situation. Both were certain that the noble Timmerly was responsible for the poor knight's death, but had no real proof besides his proximity to the scene.

As the questioning continued in the same vein, Nathaniel shook his head. "He's guilty. I'm sure of it," he whispered.

"Me too," I agreed. "Your reasoning?"

"His fleeing the scene while covered in blood would normally be enough to convict him. But the murder of a knight should scare a lot of people. Nobles especially. That no one has come forward demanding justice indicates that they know who committed the deed, and that they are complicit." He looked at me soberly. "A warning. Don't judge him based on his entitled attitude, Kathryn. If you do, it will turn all the other nobles against you, even those not involved in the conspiracy. He's counting on that. You need evidence."

I nodded. "I'll have it in a moment."

That confused him. I turned back to face Timmerly and said, "Hang him."

The colour could not have drained from his face faster than if I'd stabbed him in the heart. "Y-you cant!" he blurted.

There it was. Varel grunted in approval. "Oh, but she very much can!"

I held up a hand, raising my voice to be heard throughout the hall. "Timmerly, the first words out of your mouth when I pronounced your death were, 'you can't'. An _innocent_ man would have said, 'but I didn't do it'. Noble blood does not, and never will, excuse murder in my arling."

* * *

><p>Holding court was not the biggest headache of the day, however. Woolsey was less than impressed with my decision to disburse the loot from Kal'Hirol without speaking to her first. Apparently there was a procedure or a policy or something. Grey Wardens were supported by tithes, and were not supposed to loot every body and chest they happened across.<p>

She became quite huffy when I pointed out that, had I followed that particular brand of idiocy, Alistair would have died for lack of healing salves before we'd even reached the top of the tower at Ostagar, I'd not have survived the mess at the Circle, Ferelden would be a blackened wasteland and the archdemon would now be ravaging Orlais.

She point blank demanded that the entire take from Kal'Hirol be converted to the arling's treasury. I didn't even let my Wardens react to that before I told her to sod off.

Yes, that's me. Diplomat extraordinaire. Of the Wardens, only Nathaniel covered his eyes.

Our argument grew even more heated. It was only after I suggested she deliver her report on my unbecoming conduct to the First Warden in person that Varel interceded and suggested making use of the funds was a greater priority than bickering over who controlled them. Garavel immediately placed his order for the full amount to go to recruitment for the army.

Woolsey dismissed the idea, though she did explain her reasoning. From what I could gather, dumping a large amount of money into a depressed economy simply drove prices for goods and services up and out of the reach of the majority. Having lots of gold meant little when it cost lots of gold for anything. But it did mean a great deal to others.

The woman was a pain, but she knew her business.

She was adamant that the most effective way to get the arling operational again was to encourage trade. Amaranthine was a port city after all, and if the bandits could be neutralized, our much-healthier treasury could be used to tempt traders here.

I mentioned the fact that the population of the arling would probably soon include upwards of five hundred dwarves. Both Woolsey and Garavel were shocked at the news, but expressed support for the idea. Garavel because any bandits who tried robbing an army of dwarves would not be his problem (or even a problem) any more, and Woolsey because such a population would create a demand that would act as a lure to many merchants around the country.

I set out my plans for Kal'Hirol in front of them. Of the three, only Woolsey saw the benefit. Garavel expressed the same sort of concerns as Nathaniel, while Varel pondered aloud on the political ramifications.

Once the idea had their full attention, I asked a servant to summon Derren to the meeting. He arrived quickly, but he had spent the time since court seething at my decision.

"Derren, please be seated."

The young noble sat in the indicated chair stiffly, his expression neutral but his demeanour unfriendly. "Thank you, Arlessa Kathryn."

I pulled a map of the arling across the table and pointed to the rift. "What do you know of the lands around this point?"

He glanced at the map. "Very little, I'm afraid. I know that you have personal holdings in the area."

"Well, that spot is going to become an important commercial hub in the coming months. Initially the needed goods will be mostly food and other supplies suitable for an army and to establish a mine, but in the coming months I expect that there will be ore and worked metal goods being shipped out."

He looked from me to Nathaniel to Varel and back again. "I don't understand."

I tapped the map again, drawing his attention back down. "Beneath this point there is an old dwarven fortress, one of their smaller thaigs. I intend for the dwarves to reclaim it, but they'll need our support to do so. I need an administrator to oversee the establishment of a trading post, or even a small settlement on the surface."

He blinked, glancing from one face to another. He focused on Oghren, presumably as he was recognisable as a dwarf. "A fortress? Really?"

Oghren barked a laugh. "Aye, bigger than the Vigil, it is. There's more ore and quality stone down there than all the mines along the coast."

"And the dwarves are going to reclaim it? Now?"

I nodded. "Yes."

"How many dwarves will be needed?"

I looked at Oghren. "Few hundred," he allowed. "More'll come later, once the mines are functioning again."

He glanced down at the map again, but shook his head. "Not possible. The roads quality isn't enough to support that level of traffic."

"What do you mean?" Woolsey asked. "Certainly they will require upgrading in the future, but they are quite suitable for the required mercantile traffic."

Derren shook his head. "It's not the merchant traffic that you need to accommodate, Madam. Establishing a population centre there will initially require large amounts of lumber, stone and other materials. The roads are not capable of handling such volume in the timeframe you need."

"Good," I said with a smile.

That surprised a lot of people. "Good, Commander?" Woolsey asked archly.

"Yes, good," I replied firmly. "Derren here sounds like he knows what's needed to make this a success. I need it to succeed, Derren. I need to be able to supply several hundred dwarves, and I need to set up the facilities to extract and export vast amounts of stone, ore, metal and weapons. I allowed your family's bridge to be taken from you. Would you accept governance of the trading centre in its place?"

* * *

><p>Woolsey and her new best friend (and my newest, most-devoted vassal) Derren seconded themselves away in a room to discuss the requirements of the undertaking. If Derren could keep the woman away from me, I'd consider his appointment well and truly earned.<p>

To keep the relative peace, I allowed the gold we'd taken from Kal'Hirol to be placed in the treasury on the proviso that it not be spent until the rest of the argument about its disbursement was completed. I was not going to let my Wardens be cheated out of a life-changing windfall.

The changes we'd made were having an impact. The kitchens were relatively well stocked, if our meals were anything to go by. The woman we'd rescued from the bandits on our way home turned out to be from a wealthy merchant family, and agreed to stock the Keep's merchants with new inventory. An elf woman in a robe stopped me in the hall to personally thank me for that. I'd noticed her on occasion waft around the Keep looking a bit lost, but we'd never exchanged words. I had assumed that she was one of Alistair's army mages - an apostate who enlisted to avoid the templars. Apparently she was something of an ambassador from the Circle, skilled in rune crafting and enchanting.

Nice of her to finally introduce herself.

I gave instructions to all the traders in the Keep to sell anything to my Wardens and bill Woolsey directly. With any luck, buy the time she got the invoices they'd have spent their share of the take and it would make her argument redundant. My Wardens and I spent a few days upgrading our equipment - Sigrun looked fabulous in her new armour, despite her almost constant blush. I noticed that the Keep itself was noticeably more energetic than the day I arrived. The population had grown, and there were several new people bustling about.

The Orlesian Warden Kristoff had still not returned from his scouting mission. Darkspawn sightings were still arriving daily, though at a much-reduced rate. Bandits were still a problem, but more to the south, along the Pilgrim's Path. Literally nothing was getting through down there.

On that front, I sent a messenger to the chap from the Merchant's Guild, suggesting that the Wardens would escort any trader south to the edge of the arling. The response was positive.

So, it was off to Amaranthine once more.

o_ooo000ooo_o

AN: Thanks again to my reviewers - MB18932, Nightbrainzz, Isabeau of Greenlea, Pintsizedpsycho, Arsinoe de Blassenville, Hydroplatypus and sizuka2 - thank you all for your kind words.

Unfortunately, work is still hectic, so it will be another couple of weeks before this fic is updated.


	17. A pair of elvish sisters

disclaimer type=standard

Anything you recognise is Bioware's. I daresay anything else belongs to them too.

/disclaimer

o_ooo000ooo_o

The Warden lapsed into a short silence. Cassandra frowned at the delay. "And? What happened then?"

Kathryn tilted her head to one side and appeared to consider her. "You know, you seem to be enjoying my tale. At least, when I'm not relating various moronic Chantry schemes coming undone."

The Seeker sucked in a deep breath, but stayed her retort. She ran her mind back over the interrogation, and discovered that it was, for the most part, true. "You are not planning on springing any more surprises on me, are you? After you sundered the power structure of the Chantry in Amaranthine, both the Grand Cleric of Ferelden and Divine Beatrice made it clear that you were to be left alone."

The elf laced her fingers together and pointed her hands at the Seeker. In a neutral voice, she said, "An edict that was defied twice."

Cassandra felt her stomach drop. Obviously, it had been defied when the templars captured her, and they had been excommunicated for their actions. "Twice?"

"You don't seem surprised."

Drawing in a deep breath, Cassandra replied with a long sigh. "I am. But honestly, only because I had not heard about it. It is difficult to keep such things secret from us."

Kathryn smirked. "So you do believe that someone in the Chantry was stupid enough to try again?"

Grimacing, the Seeker nodded. "But equally, as I have not heard of the attempt, either you did not respond, or you responded in a manner that could not be traced back to you."

"Or," the elf said slowly, "there was no evidence to link the Chantry to the attempt."

That sounded interesting. Cassandra narrowed her eyes in thought. "No evidence? Then how..."

"Initially? By inference. By deduction. By the fact that it was the only explanation that made any damned sense at all."

The Seeker regarded the mage for a long, silent moment. "You do not know for sure," she said tentatively.

"I do so," Kathryn retorted. "I have interrogated the mastermind behind it. But I couldn't prove it _at the time_. And without proof, I couldn't justify a response." Her lips twisted into a self-satisfied smirk. "Of course, that didn't stop me from using it to further my own ends."

Cassandra rolled her eyes. "No doubt. What happened? When did it happen?"

"What? The Knight-Commander Darrian used me to get rid of some inconvenient people for him. When? Just after I first met the Architect in the Wending Wood."

o_ooo000ooo_o

The trip to Amaranthine was uneventful. As we were just going to 'pick up' a bunch of merchant wagons, Oghren had elected to remain behind to finalise the shipment of goods heading to Orzammar. Nathaniel elected to join in the hope of visiting his sister. Sigrun simply wanted to explore the surface. Anders wanted to browse the marketplace for some books.

Thunder, of course, was simply delighted to just go for walkies.

The city guards greeted us by sight this time. We entered the city without incident, making our way to the market district.

A dwarf woman with a face like a sock stuffed with pebbles bumped into Sigrun. Both turned to face each other with an apology on their lips before the other dwarf almost exploded in a venomous, insult-fuelled tirade. I moved to separate the pair, but Sigrun held up a hand to forestall me.

It was not, as I'd initially assumed, simply one dwarf bullying a casteless. The pair apparently had a history. Back in Orzammar, the dwarf Mischa had tried to give Sigrun a chance by employing her to do grunt work in her shop. Sigrun had been leaned on to fence some stolen goods, which were subsequently recognised.

Mischa had been evicted from Orzammar in disgrace. Sigrun had not spoken up as she would have been executed.

I reiterated my faith in my Warden, which sent the bitter dwarf off in a seething huff. Sigrun looked surprised at the support, but declined to talk about the incident.

We met with representatives from the merchant guild. To a man, they were pleased that the arling's authorities were finally doing something about the stagnate trade. The meeting ended in an agreement for the Wardens to protect a convoy. Anyone willing to take a wagon to Denerim at first light would be escorted to the south border of the arling.

Merchants scattered to organise what they could. Sigrun and I went to secure lodgings for the night while Anders and Nathaniel took off to shop and visit family respectively. We resolved to meet at the Crown and Lion tavern, on the other side of the city.

The inn could have been transplanted from just about anywhere in Ferelden. The main door opened onto a small common room with a handful of tables, around which several people nursed pewter pint mugs. A stairway on the left side of the room led up to a landing; and probably to where the rentable rooms were.

We pushed our way between the tables to the innkeeper, and I introduced myself. We were greeted with a mixed response; some people seemed pleased, while others muttered darkly about the changes at the Chantry. I asked about my missing Orlesian Warden, and was informed that Kristoff had indeed rented a room here; indeed, had paid for an entire month in advance. I acquired the key with little difficulty.

Kristoff's room was scrupulously neat and tidy. I found that very handy, as it made finding and reviewing his notes a simple matter. A large map of the arling was pinned to one wall, with notes, markings and crosses drawn over it.

It appeared that our wayward Warden was looking for a powerful, central source of corruption, rather than individual bands of darkspawn. Of all his notes, only the Blackmarsh had not been crossed out. No prizes for guessing where he'd gone then.

Still, after this much time, I held little hope that he'd turn up alive. I resolved to head towards the Blackmarsh on our way back from our journey south.

Anders returned first, carrying a tray covered with pastries and pies. Several of the local bakers were pleased with us, it seemed. Nathaniel returned somewhat later, happy that he'd got to spend some time with his sister and her new husband, and chuffed to discover that we'd left him some baked goods.

I decided to take my Wardens around the city before nightfall, to ensure we were a visible presence. We wandered around and spoke to everyone who had time to stop and chat.

A familiar figure stood in the verandah in front of the Chantry. Her enchanted robes were a little travel-worn, and her shoes showed signs of amateur repair, but it could only be the condescending old biddy I'd travelled with for the better part of a year. She still carried the same staff, wore the same cowl and gloves, and still bore the same lemon-sucking expression of permanent disapproval.

Wynne's eyes widened in recognition when she noted my approach. She stepped forward in a measured fashion, not eager, not nervous. She greeted me in a tight, formal tone; presumably she was still annoyed at me for daring to break Alistair's heart.

I introduced her to my new companions. She greeted Sigrun with a respectful nod, and Nathaniel with a predictable admonition not to follow his father's path. She smiled as she scratched Thunder's ears in greeting, an act that always put the scratcher firmly into the scratchee's good books. Anders she was quite obviously familiar with; he appeared to be even lower in her esteem than me. The pair began to bicker back and forth, presumably the latest skirmish in a long, drawn out war of words between the pair.

It wasn't hard to see that Anders' continued escape attempts baffled the staunch Loyalist. Just as it wasn't hard to believe that Wynne's indefatigable defense of the Chantry's oversight of the Circles rubbed Anders the wrong way. Wynne's words were laced with descriptions of her disappointment in my new Warden. I suspected that she saw him as some sort of successor to her, if only he would settle down and be a good little captive mage.

I interrupted them before they really got into their stride. More to disperse the growing crowd than to end my entertainment. I pointedly asked what she was doing in Amaranthine, and what had happened to Shale.

My rocky friend was still in the Tevinter Imperium, the object of study to some mages Wynne knew and trusted. Research on extracting the dwarf woman from her stony body was not encouraging, and apparently unlikely to result in success. Still, Shale was nothing if not patient, and had elected to remain with the mages on the off chance they uncovered a method of reversion.

Wynne was in town trying to locate a colleague named Ines whose voice carried disproportionate weight among the members of an upcoming convention of the College of Magi in Cumberland. It made little sense to me that someone who preferred their own company would hold sway over others, but we mages could be an odd lot. The Libertarian fraternity had latched onto the recent changes I'd forced at the Ferelden Circle to press for full cessation from Chantry oversight.

They were pushing for too much and far too quickly, I immediately concluded. The Chantry would not even consider such a subversive motion, even if it had unanimous support in the council. Anders too let loose an explosive denunciation of the idea. He described it, quite accurately in my opinion, as 'a recipe for disaster'.

Wynne was dismissive of our concerns, seeming to prefer to believe what she wanted to believe was true. Namely, that it would all blow over without incident. I suspected that she had no realistic view of how such a motion would be seen by the templar heirachy.

I wouldn't be going anywhere near Cumberland. Not for a while.

Still, Wynne's acquaintance had last been seen in the Wending Wood, south of Vigil's Keep It would not be much of an imposition for us to keep an eye out for her. Wynne thanked us for our promised aid, and departed, claiming much to accomplish before she took ship to Nevarra. But not without several parting shots at Anders and his stubborn refusal to model himself on her.

We spent the early evening in the common room of the tavern, socialising with the locals. We drank, we sang, we laughed at the amateurish attempt at scamming coin for the 'blight orfans'.

We departed, as expected, at first light the next day. The leg back to Vigil's Keep was somewhat less unremarkable; a single bandit attack less than two miles from the city. They must have thought Santinala had come early, given the enthusiasm they exhibited in their first charge. Such a train of wagons would possibly have supplied them for a year or more.

Of course, once a few fireballs and localised storms appeared out of thin air, their enthusiasm dimmed somewhat. A pity. These bandits had no conviction. Still, between Anders and I, our magic accounted for a good third of the bandit numbers before they legged it. Nathaniel's arrows added a respectable number to our tally.

Morale among the merchants in the convoy was high as we approached Vigil's Keep late on the second afternoon out from Amaranthine. I led them into the courtyard where several of the Keep's servants were prepared. The convoy would be put up in the Keep overnight, and we'd move out again at first light.

Something had happened though. The expressions on various faces expressed an odd mixture of amusement and foreboding.

It turned out that Oghren had received a visitor. Felsi had appeared at the gates the previous evening, demanding to see her wayward beau. The pair had argued long and loud, ending with her storming off and Oghren drinking himself into a stupor.

I took my old friend aside and had a brief talk. He refused to abandon the Wardens, but 0he tentatively agreed that he should at least try and be part of his child's life, and committed to writing regularly.

The next morning the convoy departed south, fortified with all the Wardens. We once again took our wagons, to hopefully lure some more bandits out on our return leg.

Two days later, we reached the most dangerous part of the journey. The Pilgrim's Path narrowed to a choke point that appeared perfect for ambushes. A burning cart ahead indicated that some poor soul had tried to run the gauntlet - and failed.

Still, if it was burning, it meant that those who set it alight were nearby...

They were. My Wardens were just as capable of dispatching a band of bandits as they were an equal sized band of darkspawn. The sylvans attacking the bandits were more of an issue. Just not overwhelmingly more.

I ordered the guards from Vigil's Keep to set up a corral for the convoy while the Wardens and I scouted further out for more dangers.

We found more scavengers battling sylvans and other bandit bands sorting out loot.

And then, we discovered the source of the attacks.

It was an elf. Or more specifically, an elf mage. Incoherent with fury and fear, she demanded that we release her sister. When I responded that we were Grey Wardens, she paused her raving momentarily, before telling us to pass her message along to the merchants. Before we could respond, she summoned a bundle of what appeared to be tree roots, which pulled her through the earth and away.

"Well," Anders said, "if that's the kind of mage ordinary people meet, I'm suddenly not surprised at the by way we're treated."

Sigrun punched him in the thigh. "Hey! She's lost her sister."

Nathaniel grunted, not impressed. "And a lot of good, honest people have lost their husbands and fathers because of her."

Sigrun shrugged. "I didn't say she was right, just that if I'd lost my sister, I'd probably go a little off the rails myself."

Anders frowned. "Off the rails?"

She shrugged. "Mines have metal rails laid down to roll carts of ore or scratching along. If a cart goes off the rails, things get a bit crazy."

"Ah. Thanks."

I scratched at my jaw as my companions chattered and bantered lightly among themselves. The elf mage was a serious danger, and needed to be neutralised. In the tower, I'd once read a military treatise on the art of warfare. One of the more interesting points it made was that of co-opting resources from your enemy. It was a fundamental idea that I tried to emulate always. Whether stealing silver ingots from Howe, or selling Loghain's crown, or even making the armour I wore, turning my enemies' resources against them was a major factor in my success to date. Indeed, during the Blight I had made it a habit of taking enemies and turning them into allies.

Finding the elf's sister would essentially stop her attacks on the merchants. Which, despite it being a tedious chore, would probably be a good use of my own time and resources. But turning the elf mage into a Grey Warden would be better - _if _I could work with her. She exhibited magical abilities that I personally did not recognise.

"Come on," I said. "Let's go."

Oghren looked at me and grunted. "You're not thinking about recruiting that maniac, are ya?"

The other Wardens, with the exception of Nathaniel, expressed surprise at that. I guess he took my suggestion and spoke to Oghren about Zevran. I responded, "I'm thinking about learning how to do those spells, actually. If that means recruiting her, so be it."

He took a swig from an earthenware bottle and wiped his mouth with his beard tails. "I think we might be over quota on crazy right now, Kat," he said.

"Maybe. In that case, we will have to kill her to stop the attacks on the merchants though."

"Aye. Sodding nugshit-crazy loons."

* * *

><p>We scouted out the ridge on which the elf mage appeared. Unsurprisingly, she was not there. We did find piles of weapons and four mass graves. Nathaniel kicked some of the weapons around with his boot.<p>

"This isn't right."

I turned to him. "What isn't?"

He crouched down, elbows on knees, to get a closer look at some of the blades. "These weapons. They weren't dropped in battle. It looks like they were… placed here." He looked around the scene and shook his head. "They weren't even used in battle. This looks more like a staged scene than a true battlefield."

Anders glanced around, confusion on his face. "Who would do that?

I rubbed my chin. "Who would do that?" I repeated. "Start with what it is supposed to accomplish and work backwards."

Nathaniel looked up at me from his crouched position and smiled.

"What do you mean?" Anders asked.

I waved my arm around, taking in the scene. "What is all this accomplishing? Elvish graves, Fereldan weapons."

He gave a goofy grin. "Well, it's certainly making certain elvish mages a bit bloodthirsty."

I grunted. "Yeah. So, make the assumption that having that mage go - how did Sigrun put it - off the rails, is the goal rather than a side effect. She's attacking basically everyone who comes through here."

Sigrun raised her hand. "Maybe they're trying to stop trade?"

"Or start a war between the Dalish and the local militias," Nathaniel posited gloomily.

I hummed a neutral tone. "Perhaps. But where does the sister fit into it?"

Oghren grunted. "Shit like this makes my head hurt. If we run across her sister, we'll do the whole damsel rescuing thing that's in all those books back at the Keep. But for now, there's darkspawn nearby. Let's go paste 'em."

Good old Oghren. Always manages to cut to the heart of the matter.

Sigrun brightened. "You read those books too? Did you figure out what an Antivan milk sandwich was?"

Oghren looked at her blankly. "Eh? S'like, soggy, bread dipped in milk, ain't it?"

She smirked at him. "No."

"Sodding useless books," he grumbled.

* * *

><p>We left the staged battlefield and went hunting darkspawn. We found, we killed, we moved on.<p>

Darkspawn weren't all we found. To my delight, we found a dark granite deposit that both Oghren and Sigrun thought was of surpisingly good quality. Nearby lay the remains of a scholar who came to grief in the Wood; presumably from a creature making a rustling noise, if his journal was anything to go by.

The mystery was soon solved as we encountered more sylvans, including an ancient individual half again as large as a usual specimen. The scholar's Tevinter stone activated what appeared to be a magical safe, revealing a lyrium-etched pendant that matched my eyes nicely.

We even ran into Wynne's scholarly rival Ines, who was just as anti-social as we'd been led to believe. It took little effort to convince her to head off to Cumberland.

We continued to explore the area, finding blighted creatures as well as darkspawn. My blood ran cold as we found a horrifying, open mass grave. Only Oghren did not react with revulsion. Even Thunder whined.

I closed my eyes and concentrated, looking for something I sincerely hoped not to find.

"Kathryn? Are you all right?' Nathaniel asked.

"Shh," Anders said before I could respond. "I think she's touching the Fade."

"How do you know that?"

Anders gave a soft laugh. "Because she's using the meditation stance favoured by one of the Circle's senior enchanters. An entire generation of mages think that they're required to stand like that to explore the Fade while awake. It lets them feel for any anomalies."

I let out an explosive breath and turned a glare on him. "It also requires a bit of quiet!" I snapped.

He did not seem the least bit perturbed. "No it doesn't," he said with a grin.

"Well… I do," I retorted lamely.

He waved that away. "Don't worry about it. This wasn't where they were killed."

Sigrun looked between us. "Worry about what?"

Oghren grunted. "Dwarves don't have mages, so when bad shit happens below ground, that's the end of it. Up here, sometimes demons turn up in places where lots of killings happened."

I looked over at him, eyebrows raised in surprise.

"What?" he demanded. "I can't keep my ears open?"

"I think she's surprised it wasn't your mouth that was open. With the neck of a bottle in it," Anders quipped.

Nathaniel waved them into silence. "Shh! Look," he said softly, pointing towards Thunder.

My mabari had trotted a little ways away, but was now standing stock still and grave-silent, his hackles up. I followed his gaze and swore under my breath. "Cocoons," I said.

Sigrun shuddered. "Ugh. I hate spiders."

"Me too," I agreed.

"Try fighting along side one," Oghren said, sending a shiver of discomfort down my spine at the horrible memory of Morrigan changing into that awful shape. "Come on, let's go squish 'em."

It was a simple matter, as the nest was quite small. Once we were done, a tingle on my senses drew my attention. A survivor from the militia, mortally injured and horribly tainted.

We made him comfortable for his last moments. He painfully described the events that led to the deaths of his squad. It made my mouth go dry.

Darkspawn creating diversions. Darkspawn planning traps. Darkspawn playing one side against the other.

Darkspawn thinking.

Shit.

Some of the aforesaid darkspawn tried ambushing us as the militiaman passed on. But my Wardens were suddenly very, very serious. There was no banter as we hacked and slashed the monsters to pieces. We simply fell on them as efficiently as possible.

Oghren and Sigrun shared a long look that had nothing to do with his constant, clumsy flirting. "Orzammar needs to know about this," Sigrun said, her voice tight with worry.

"Aye." He gave one corpse a kick. "But these bastards are still mindless. Whatever's doing their thinking for them is the one we've got to worry about."

I didn't disagree. Having an unending swarm of darkspawn that followed orders and thought creatively was a nightmare that the conservative thinkers in Orzammar would have little defence against. Suddenly having a second base at Kal'Hirol was not so much an unexpected bonus as a necessary place to retreat to.

We scoured the corpses for clues. Besides the usual coins and small gems, I found an elven trinket in the pocket of the darkspawn mage.

"Wardens," I said, rising to my feet. "Bugger this for a lark. Merchants, militia, trade routes and insane elves are now officially a secondary concern. We need to find the leader here, and we need to find it now. Hopefully it is either the Architect or the Mother."

Anders frowned. "Er, why hopefully?"

I let out an explosive breath. "Because having more than two factions is not something I particularly want to contemplate. Do you?"

He gave me an abashed look. "I suppose not."

"Right, let's backtrack. There are still some darkspawn nearby. We need to find them. And then kill them."

The mad elf made another appearance as we made our way back towards the wagons. I tried reasoning with her, but she refused to listen and summoned some forest creatures, unleashing them onto us. This time, I noted that she escaped back towards the staged battlefield.

Right. That was one problem we could deal with now.

The summoned creatures presented us with no particular difficulty. We followed her back to the stone-covered graves, where she stood forlornly. She made no move to defend herself, but declared that we would not take her alive.

She appeared to be emotionally exhausted, if not physically. A few moments of calm dialogue was all it took to convince her that we would not attempt to kill or capture her. Convincing her that the darkspawn were responsible for her sister's disappearance was a little more challenging. The trinket I recovered earlier came in useful.

The hint that her sister may end up birthing darkspawn had her nicely lined up with our goal; the elimination of all the local darkspawn. She joined us, a little hesitant, but determined to save her sister. She introduced herself as Velanna.

She was dangerous, if not powerful in a classical sense. She had abilities and spells that those of us in the Circle had no clue existed. Not that _that _was anything special. I'd been out of the tower less than a month before I was introduced to a shapeshifter, and six months later I learned how to use magic to facilitate wielding arms and wearing armour.

The more I lived out in the world, the more I was sure the Circles were designed by the Chantry to limit mages, not develop them.

It was a thought I pushed to the back of my mind. I needed to concentrate.

We entered the mines, and descended into their murky depths.

* * *

><p>An acrid smell and unpleasant dampness intruded on my oblivion. I carefully cracked my eyelids open over eyeballs that felt sandy and dry. Carefully, I raised a hand to my face and rubbed, noting absently that my arm was bare and my fingers were cold. But my face was damp.<p>

"Ser Pounce-a-lot! No! Don't you dare piss on... Maker's breath! You're awake? I don't believe it. Lie still, Kat."

Anders was nearby. That was good. "What happened?" I whispered through a dry throat. The smell got worse. I crinkled my nose.

"We were captured. Some glyphs we walked over combined with a powerful sleep spell." He chanted briefly, and a wash of refreshing magic soothed my aches. "You aren't hydrated, just energised. So don't overextend yourself."

I sat up with his assistance and looked around. We were in a small prison cell, each of us dressed in rags. Sigrun was working on the door, but from her grunts of frustration, it didn't sound as though she was having much luck. Oghren was testing the strength of the bars and Thunder was snoring at the edge of the cell.

The elf Velanna sat in one corner, arms crossed and sullenly silent.

I tilted my head to one side, stretching out the stiffness. "Why are you still here?" I asked her. "Can't you move through the ground?" I ran my fingers through my knotty hair. My hand came away damp and smelly. I decided at that instant that Ser Pounce had to die.

"I can't travel through stone!" she spat. In a softer voice she clarified with, "Only through earth."

I grunted, pleased that there was a way to imprison her if I ever needed to. "What's wrong with Thunder?"

Anders shrugged helplessly. "I've no idea. He won't wake up. The sleep spell affected him differently. He's fine though, he just won't open his eyes."

I swallowed, very worried for my mabari. "Right, well, I'm up, so let's not hang around here. I want to get going."

Velanna scoffed. "You think that we were just sitting around waiting for you to wake up?"

I shrugged. "Maybe. If you can't open the door then one of us needs to go and find the key."

She rolled her eyes. "Well, obviously. That would be a great help. Would you care to volunteer?"

"Okay," I replied easily. "Anders, grab your bloody cat. If he pisses on me again I'm making myself a new cat-skin belt." He did so, and I shifted into my mouse form. I scurried between the bars and changed back to my usual form. Unfortunately, I was starkers. The rags I'd been dressed in didn't have enchanted mouse fur embroidered into them. Damn it. There's always something.

"Pass me my clothes," I snapped. Sigrun and Velanna were both staring at me in open-mouthed silence. Nathaniel was looking away, the back of his neck bright red. Anders was covering his eyes, though i noted that one eye lined up with a tiny gap between his fingers. Pervert. Oghren just openly nodded his appreciation. At least he was honest about it.

Sigrun bundled my rags and tossed them out of the cage to me. I struggled into them as quickly as possible. "Right, any idea where I should look first?"

Oghren snorted. "There some darkspawn behind the door over there, I can smell them from here."

I nodded, my still-young Warden senses confirming his statement. "Right, I'll go kill them and bring back a key."

Anders shot to his feet. "Be careful."

Velanna lunged for the bars. "My sister! If you see my sister, help her!"

I gave her a flat look. "Fine," I ground out. I may need the irritating mage's skills to make our escape. "What does she look like?"

Velanna spat out a generic set of attributes that could have matched just about any elf, except for a detailed description of her sister's facial tattoos. Obviously that was how the Dalish identified one another. With a nod and a final glance at my slumbering hound, I turned away and opened the heavy wooden door leading to the darkspawn.

On the other side stood an elf woman who matched the description I'd just been provided to a tee. Except that she was armed and armoured. And tainted. She had her hand out to open the door.

As she gaped at me, I put her to sleep with a spell. She collapsed in a heap, dropping a keyring she had been holding in one hand. With a sigh, I had a sudden epiphany that Velanna was going to believe that I could do anything instantaneously.

I picked up the keys, shouldered Seranni with some difficulty, and walked back through the door, not ten seconds after opening it in the first place. "This her?" I snapped at the Dalish elf.

Oghren barked a laugh over Velanna's relieved shrieks. "You don't mess about, do ya, Kat?"

"Nope," I replied, tossing the keys to Sigrun and carefully laying my burden on the floor. She seemed to be in remarkable health for someone with moderate corruption. She had no visible wounds and she was well fed. She was almost certainly no prisoner.

"Seranni!" Velanna cried on seeing her sister. She pushed her way past Sigrun and out of the opened cell.

I held up a hand and shouted, "Stop! Stay back."

"What? Why?" she demanded, her eyes flashing in rage.

"Your sister is tainted. Touch her and you could get corrupted too," I replied flatly.

She clenched her fists and began shaking. "No! No! There must be a cure, there must be!"

I grunted. "There is. Sort of. There's one ritual. But it's not guaranteed to work and it doesn't so much cure the corruption as delay the inevitable for a few decades."

"Then you must perform it! Immediately!"

Maker, her voice could etch glass. I lifted my face and glared at her so pointedly that she blinked and took half a step back. I spread my arms and said, "I don't happen to have the required reagents on me!"

Anders knelt down next to me and held his hands over the slumbering elf. He chanted softly for a moment, and his hands began to glow a deep viridian. "That's not right," he muttered.

I waited for the predictable, overly emotional, "What?" from Velanna. I was not disappointed.

Anders frowned. "She's far more gone with corruption than she looks. But it's being held in check by something." He rubbed his chin, the stubble making a rough scratching noise. "I've got nothing but guesswork to base this on you realise, but if she's got the presence of mind and strength of will to hold on this long, then she's likely to survive the trip to Vigil's Keep."

"Right, well, let's-" I began before Thunder's growling and a sense of approaching corruption silenced me. My joy at his awakening quickly turned to tense readiness. I turned back to the open door and warned, "Incoming!"

I threw a fireball at the darkspawn even appeared through the door. They were unprepared for the attack, and were knocked down by the blast. Sigrun and Oghren charged forward through the smoky residue, brutally clubbing them with thighbones they'd picked up. As much as mouldering bones added to the feeling of despair in a prison cell, they made for surprisingly effective weapons. Oghren's snapped after one devastating blow, but he simply reversed his grip and started stabbing with the pointy end.

Nathaniel had taken the time to divest Seranni of her blades, an action that made him far more effective against the attacking darkspawn.

Velanna cast a spell that woke her sister. Instantly, a pair of shrieking voices began arguing back and forth. I clenched my eyes shut tightly against the sudden onset headache. It took me all of three seconds to decide that it would be better for my eardrums to simply stun the both of them and leave them here.

From the excruciating wails, I gathered that Seranni had thrown her lot in with the Architect. She wanted her sister to escape, but not leave herself. Velanna wouldn't, and couldn't, accept that, and said so. Loudly. Piercingly. Repeatedly.

I was about to let loose my magic to shut them both up when Seranni suddenly collapsed bonelessly, caught at the last second by Anders, who laid her on the stone floor with gentle care.

Velanna immediately went on the attack. "What are you doing?" she screamed.

Anders looked up at her sadly. "Your sister has been mentally dominated," he said in tones so low that the elf mage would have to cease her ranting to hear him. It was an interesting tactic, and one that I'd have to try myself.

"What?" she said, so aghast that it was almost a whisper. I made a mental note to give Anders a bonus once we were back home.

"The darkspawn who captured us - this Architect fellow - he has dominated her. Using Blood Magic, I assume. Your sister _wants _to stay with him. I put her to sleep because the hold he has over her will need to be broken before she will be the woman you remember."

* * *

><p>I was angry. Actually, I was bloody furious. Sparks arced between my fingers as we stomped around, searching out and splattering any darkspawn unlucky enough to get in our way.<p>

As much as Velanna was an irritating shrew, I needed her. Well, I needed her sister, but I figured that they were pretty much a package deal. I needed to know how the Architect kept the taint in her at bay, preventing it from overwhelming her. I needed to know the Architect's plans. I needed to know why he'd taken all my blood, if not to try and control me as he had controlled Seranni. That thought chilled me to the bone.

To that end, Anders took up the burden of carrying the slumbering elf maiden. While any one of the males in our party was fully capable of carrying a slender elf by themselves, Nathaniel and Oghren needed the ability to attack a group of darkspawn in an instant, and having to drop an ally onto hard stone to do so would have been undiplomatic. Anders, to his credit, did not complain. He simply shouldered the slender lass and held a makeshift, thighbone club in the other hand.

In a vivid parallel to Rendon Howe, we found the Architect's bedroom just off the dungeons. His workspace and study revealed disturbing hints of his plans and abilities, but no details.

The idea that a bloody darkspawn had his own bed, complete with sheets and pillow, made my flesh crawl. It was like an abominable parody of a human.

Still, we were awake. We were free. And we were very, very good at killing darkspawn.

One by one, we stumbled across darkspawn wearing our gear. Oghren in particular took great offence at that, and let loose with a poorly worded curse that, given the sniggering, would undoubtedly have Anders poking fun at him for the rest of his life. Or until the end of Anders' life, if he pushed Oghren too far.

I felt a sense of overwhelming relief on reclaiming Spellweaver and my beautiful armour. Nathaniel breathed a prayer of thanks to the Maker's bride on retrieving his family's bow. Sigrun howled in fury at the darkspawn wearing Hirol's armour, and proved to be quite... out of character with it.

As more of our party were reunited with their armour and weapons, the darkspawn became even less of a threat. Just in time, as a familiar scent wafted along the rough corridor.

"Dragon!" I spat with excitement. "Excellent!"

Oghren glanced at me. "No dragon that'd fit these tunnels would make you better armour, Kat," he pointed out.

I shook my head. "Not to kill. To capture."

"What?" came at me from several directions.

"Listen," I said earnestly. "I want some dragons to raise at Soldier's Peak. Just the dragonlings, or even better, some dragon eggs."

"Are you insane?" Anders gaped, adjusting Seranni to his other shoulder.

I shook my head. "No." I stopped and considered the question, then waved my hand. "Well maybe, but that's beside the point. Listen - orders. One, any dragonkin less than eight feet long from snout to tail - stun or paralyse. I reckon we can train them that young. Two, anything bigger, kill. Got it?"

Sigrun nodded and rubbed her hands together, her eyes alight. "I would have loved a pet dragon when I was a child."

Nathaniel, who looked rather distressed at belonging to such an insane outfit, blinked owlishly at her. "Er, why?"

She shrugged. "Because pet nugs would always get nicked and eaten. No dwarf in Dust Town would try to steal a pet dragon."

His expression turned into one of uncomprehending acceptance. "I, er, okay. I guess I can see that."

Before we found any dragons however, we ran across a Warden survivor from Vigil's Keep. Keenan was in a bad way; crippled, in pain and fatally depressed. He did not wish to fight, or leave. He simply wanted to give into despair and let death claim him.

"Leave him," Velanna demanded. "We should not bother wasting our time on lost causes."

I turned to face her slowly, letting my rage flare into my aura. Once I had her full attention, spoke to Anders without letting my eyes leave her face. With sarcasm dripping in my tone, I said, "Velanna is right, Anders. Dump any random lost cause you happen to be carrying. Let's not bother wasting time on them."

She actually had the grace to blush, but did not answer. She turned on her heel and stormed off to a corner to sulk.

Keenan watched the exchange without curiosity. "there is a darkspawn here carrying a huge maul. He crushed my legs. He took my wedding ring. Please, Commander, slay him. Bring the ring to my wife, Nida, in Amaranthine. Tell her I died trying to make this world better."

"No," I said without pity. "You can give it to her yourself if you want. Anders? Check him out please."

"My legs are ruined," he insisted.

"Let me see," Anders insisted, his hands glowing blue.

It took some time to convince Keenan that we were not going to leave him behind. Even if he couldn't fight hand to hand, he could shoot a bow. If he couldn't go on patrol or scouting missions, he could make traps or poisons. If he couldn't train recruits, he could be trained as an archivist.

I wasn't about to ever let one of my Wardens think they were useless.

Anders' expression indicated that he didn't have great expectations, however. After nearly half an hour of healing, Keenan was judged to be out of danger of infection. Between Nathaniel and Oghren, he was pulled upright. Though painful, he could hobble along with one arm around Nathaniel's shoulders for support. He was handed a crude crossbow we'd looted and a small quiver of bolts. With a weapon in hand, a glint of fire appeared in his eyes.

I covered a smile. Sometimes a tiny flicker of hope is all that's needed to dispel the darkness.

We pressed on towards the stench of draconic guano. Several dragonlings rushed out at us. Though some were killed, almost a dozen were stunned or paralysed. We bound their wings, muzzles and legs with strips of torn cloth, unused bow strings or leather thongs scavenged from the tunnels. They'd not hold forever, but hopefully for long enough.

Keenan screamed a furious battle-cry at the sight of a hammer-wielding darkspawn, and let loose bolt after bolt at him. A large drake fought by the creature's side, which made for an interesting fight. But with three powerful mages in our party, there was never going to be other outcome.

The drake and Big Hammer were guarding a nest and hatchery for dragonlings. There were some unhatched eggs and several fenced off stalls. Most convenient really.

We went back and collected the dragonlings while Anders fixed the few wounds we'd received and did some more of his magic on Keenan and Seranni. It took three people to man-handle a single uncooperative dragonling into a stall, even one already tied up. An hour or so later, we had six tiny dragons penned up and ready for transportation. Once we were out of here, of course.

In a surreal scene, we discovered an untainted, yet inexplicably free, qunari merchant by the name of Armaas. The taciturn fellow had been captured, yet had managed to convince the darkspawn to free him in exchange for service. He carved out a profitable existence, and had proven so useful that he had been allowed to stay in the underground complex unmolested. He had even been promised 'protection' from the taint in return for his supplies.

Such a resourceful chap. Full of lies, in all probability, but he had intelligence on this operation I could use.

I pointed out that his customers were now mostly dead, and that Vigil's Keep could use someone of his ability. Armaas agreed, and promised to meet us there.

And that was that. The second qunari I'd ever met and even though he was a merchant, and a Tal Vashoth at that, he was just as blunt as Sten.

We purchased some supplies from him, water and food mostly. Thus fortified, we pushed through some nearby doors and down a long corridor to discover what looked like an arena.

I could feel a darkspawn of great power nearby, like a dark, heavy blot on my mental map of the world. He popped his head up and over a landing, looking down on us with an offensive ambivalence.

It was my first good look at the Architect. My eyes had been unaccustomed to the gloom when it had put us to sleep, and my senses were swimming when it experimented on me. Its eyes were offset and there were narrow spikes of bone protruding from its neck. It was tall. Taller even than Sten or Shale. The top of the malformed head almost topped eight feet. But the figure was emaciated, its joints protruded from its flesh. On a human, it would be a sign of severe malnutrition, but this creature stood tall without a hint of weakness.

A sense of magic swirled around him, despite the fact that he was maintaining no visible spells. My throat went dry at the thought. Not even Flemeth had such an aura of power. In a straight battle of magical power, I suspected that it would defeat me without difficulty. But I was not just a mage. I was a Grey Warden. And I didn't fight fair.

A tainted dwarven woman in old, battered armour stood at his side.

The pair looked at each other, communicating silently. He looked over across the arena, where the silence was shattered by the roar of a dragon. A big one.

Two big ones, at that.

They weren't high dragons, which was somewhat of a relief. I judged my company well able to take on the pair without resorting to any contingency measures I was desperate to keep secret.

I had Spellweaver ready and glittering as I charged, screaming orders at my companions. Thunder darted ahead, bravely meeting the enormous creatures head on. Oghren stormed along a step behind me, his axe out and hungry.

Before I could close to spell range on one, the second landed hard on the ground nearby, flattening Oghren and me. Spellweaver skittered from my grasp over the rough stone. I swore, rolled onto my back and began casting soul-sapping curses at the recently-grounded dragon.

I felt a wash of healing energy, making me pleased that Anders was observant, but annoyed that he'd spent so much power on me when I wasn't particularly injured. The draconic target of my spells roared at me, and began to charge.

I stopped spell casting and prepared to time a quick roll out of its path. Sigrun however, had other plans. She launched an attack on the dragon's flank, striking at the front leg's knee joint with her mace. The dragon stumbled part way through its charge, crashing hard to the floor.

I blinked. Now there's an idea. I rose to my feet and cast a spell that amplified the power of my subsequent spellwork at the expense of tiring me more quickly.

"Oghren!" I shouted, trying to catch his attention as he charged through the other dragon's fiery breath to swat his axe at its face. "Make the dragon fly!"

"Aye!" he shouted back, and changed his angle of attack to the dragon's limbs. Thunder ceased his attack on the dragon's legs, and leapt at the tail instead.

I took a second to observe the field of battle. Sigrun, Oghren and I were all within striking distance of at least one of the dragons, while Anders, Velanna, Nathaniel and Keenan had taken up positions near the doors. Nathaniel's arrows were as accurate as any Dalish archer I'd seen, but Keenan's bolts were a bit more wild. Velanna's spells were esoteric, but appeared effective at dealing injury and crippling pain.

The dragon under attack by Oghren and Thunder screamed, swatted my mabari across the room with a swing of its tail, and jumped into the air with a powerful beat of its wings. I grinned and waited until it had gained some height. I then tossed the most effective petrification spell I had. Not at the dragon on the ground, but at the one in flight.

Specifically, at its wings.

The spell shot out and struck true, but was barely effective; the creature's innate resistance was difficult to overcome. But it did stiffen one wing for a couple of seconds. Which was more than enough.

Unable to beat its wings properly, it began twisting and spinning out of control. The dragon screamed in rage as it plunged and smashed hard into the stubby remains of a thick stone column. Masonry went flying, stone chips and dust filled the air. The dragon however was all but out of the fight.

"That's my girl!" Oghren shouted proudly. He charged at the dragon and leapt onto its back, burying his axe hard into the base of the creature's neck. It quivered and lay still.

"Anders!" I called, glancing over at the unmoving figure of my mabari. "Fix Thunder!"

Trusting that he'd do as I asked, I ran over and retrieved my weapon. With it back in hand, I looked up at the Architect and the dwarf woman. They stood in still silence, content to observe the battle. I sent a silent prayer of thanks to Andraste for small mercies. Dealing with a pair of dragons and a powerful spell caster would have been problematic at best.

I ran back to the last dragon. I could have hit it with ice, fire or lightning, but Sigrun and Oghren were bashing it in close quarters. I figured that I'd use the skills we'd learned while taking down Flemeth and the false Andraste. I timed my run up to allow me to leap onto its back.

Warm, rough scales are difficult at the best of times to get purchase on, and when the creature is bucking and slithering beneath you, staying on is all but impossible. I stabbed Spellweaver down hard. The point struck one scale and scraped across it, but slid under the next scale. I grabbed one of the raised ridges running down the length of its spine, and with a grunt of effort, shoved my blade between the scales and into the dragon's flesh.

It reared back with a shriek of agony, dislodging me but giving Nathaniel and Keenan a delightful target. I landed hard with a curse, feeling something break in my leg. Screaming through the pain, I unleashed my magic upon the dragon too, trying to crush it in a prison of pure force.

On such a large creature the spell was less effective, but it did restrict its movement somewhat. With one dwarf hacking at its side and another breaking its legs, two mages leeching its life force and a pair of archers peppering it with pointed objects, it lasted barely another minute.

Anders was at my side before the dragon stopped moving. Under his ministrations, I was able to rise to my feet in a defensive stance in less than fifteen seconds.

It was not needed. The Architect did not attack. It did not curse us for destroying his pets and minions. It did not even break into monologue promising our painful deaths. It simply turned and drifted away through a roughly-hewn tunnel, calling on a powerful earth spell to seal the tunnel behind it and the silent dwarf woman.

* * *

><p>It was quite anticlimactic, leaving the silverite mines. Despite everything that had happened, we had been successful in our goals. Velanna had her sister back and would no longer destroy caravans. The darkspawn in the area were temporarily eradicated. We collected everything we needed, loading everything onto our wagons.<p>

The soldiers had long since cleared the path, and our arrival back at the merchant camp was cause for quite some relief. Velanna kept her hood up as we explained things to the merchants. While they were happy that the main cause of their concern was dealt with, they were less than pleased to discover that the Wardens would be heading back to Vigil's Keep. Still, they would be accompanied to the arling's border by the rest of the guards, who should be up to the task.

With the Warden wagons filled with a missing Warden, some silverite ore from inside the mine, samples of the dark granite from outside the mine, a half dozen magically bound and slumbering baby dragons, a couple of dragon eggs and a snoozing, tainted elf with invaluable intelligence on our enemy, I was in a very positive mood.

I was obliged to drive one of the wagons myself, Anders being otherwise occupied with a pair of patients. Keenan's mood still swung markedly, from tearful joy at surviving his ordeal to dark, foul depression at the idea of never walking unaided again. Anders was confident that he would be able to eventually walk under his own power, but the man seemed determined to cling to the worst scenario.

Velanna hovered over her slumbering sister's form almost constantly. Eventually she left her side long enough to sit in the drivers seat with me. Even at walking pace, she looked a bit green with the rocking motion. "Tell me more of this ritual. The one that will save Seranni."

I gave her a disgusted look. "No."

"What?" she blurted, shock on her features.

I sighed. "It's a Grey Warden secret. Once your sister undergoes the ritual, she will either master the taint in her veins, or be overwhelmed by it and die. If she survives, she will be a Grey Warden. There is nothing more I will tell you."

She huffed a bit at that, but long hours travelling with Wynne had inured me to such passive-aggressive behaviour. After a few moments of unproductive silence, Velanna got the message and said, "Very well. Should she survive your ritual, will she be permitted to return home with me?"

I shook my head. "No. As I said, she would be a Grey Warden. Her entire life will be spent fighting darkspawn. We will question her about the experiences she has suffered, to learn what we can. She will then be one of us, stationed either at Vigil's Keep or at another fortress the Grey Wardens possess."

Velanna's lips twisted into a snarl. "So I was always going to lose my sister. Either to that disgusting wretch in the mines, to the taint, or to the Grey Wardens."

I scoffed at her theatrics. "Right. Because being a Grey Warden is just like being dead or a ghoul."

She huffed again. I was learning to translate that as, 'I am wrong, but I'll see you gutted before I admit it'.

I decided to try a different tactic. "Look, you wanted to take your sister home, right? Were you going to make sure she never left again? Were you going to stay there with her?"

"No," she replied, her tone clipped.

That was interesting. I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye. She was biting her lip. Very interesting. "So, what's the difference? She will be safe with us. Well, as safe as one can be while belonging to a militant order constantly battling monsters."

"The difference is that she will not be among our people!"

"So? She will be serving them all the same."

Velanna threw her hands up in the air. "But she will never see them again!"

I rolled my eyes. "Don't be so melodramatic. I will probably utilise her as a messenger between the Wardens and the nearby Dalish clans. I'll have her teach the Wardens woodcraft. Archery - if she's not a mage, that is. She was carrying a sword and dagger in the mines, so I assume she's not a Keeper or a Keeper's apprentice."

"She is not."

I nodded. "Fine. I expect that once she becomes accustomed to life as a Warden, she will be able to visit your clan regularly. Often, if I can help it. I intend to establish good relations with the local Dalish."

She sat in silence for a long while. "Will you continue to track the darkspawn who corrupted her?"

"Yes."

Again, she lapsed into silence. With all the recent changes to her worldview, I suspected that she'd be doing a lot of thinking over the next few days.

* * *

><p>It was late afternoon as we approached Vigil's Keep. We were still half a mile away when I noticed that there was something wrong.<p>

I held up a hand and pulled back on the tethers, slowing my ox to a halt. The other wagons followed suit.

"What's up, Kat?" Oghren growled out.

I gestured towards the Keep. "There's no one on the walls."

Sigrun frowned. "You can see that far?" she said with wonder.

I nodded. I suppose long-distance vision wouldn't be a necessary survival trait underground. "Yes. I can. And the last time that happened, darkspawn overran the sodding Keep."

"The gate under the Keep would hold off the whole horde," Oghren pointed out. "It ain't likely to be darkspawn."

I nodded. "I hope you're right. I can't feel any nearby, but we may be too far away yet." I looked over the wagons. Filled with stuff ranging from invaluable to irreplaceable, I was not about to risk them. "Thunder, Nathaniel, you're with me. The rest of you, stay with the wagons. I'll send Thunder out to get you if we need help."

I tossed the reins to Velanna, who looked down at them in bafflement. Nathaniel tied his reins off, and swung down without comment.

"It's unlikely, but this could be a diversion," I said as I settled my weapons and armour. "Keep an eye out. I'll send for you as soon as possible."

* * *

><p>My first peasant uprising. Just sodding wonderful.<p>

As I struck the last of the agitators down, I almost vomited. Killing monsters, not a problem - all in a day's work. Dragons, bloody difficult but damned satisfying. Templars, bring them on. Assassins, great for taking your frustrations out on.

Starving peasants though… no. It wasn't heroic. It wasn't clean. It wasn't honourable. It was a dirty, soul-sapping business, more so because the poor sods were so outclassed that they were dead the moment they refused to back down.

And now, the families they left behind were even more worse off.

"Peasant uprisings. They never end well," Garavel said, his voice hard, yet sympathetic.

Varel looked at the younger man. "There had to be another way."

"None that would convince them not to rise up again," Nathaniel said sadly as he unstrung his bow.

I knelt down beside the apparent leader of the uprising. Something odd caught my eye.

Garavel shook his head at Varel's comment. "You know as well as I, if you give in to the mob, you're ruled by the mob."

Varel paused for a moment, but sighed and gave a small nod. "You're right, Garavel. I'll be in the keep."

"Wait," I said, looking around at the bodies. "This isn't right."

Varel sighed. "I agree, Commander. The deaths here today were-"

No!" I snapped. "Look at them!" I pointed at one of the bodies. "This one looks as though he could arm-wrestle Alistair. And this one here has got forearms like a bear."

Garavel and Varel shared a look. "Peasants do physical labour all day, Commander," Garavel said carefully, as though I was missing this knowledge.

"I know that," I snapped. "But look at them. For a bunch of people who were ranting about starving, they certainly look well fed, don't you think?"

Varel looked at the man at my feet and frowned. He glanced at another body, then another. Both he and Garavel strode forward to get a better look. I crouched down and forced the mouth of one dissident open, peering inside. The man's teeth were not the usual, discoloured and rotting stumps you'd expect on someone sitting on the lowest rung of the feudal ladder.

Still in a crouch, I looked around the killing field. "And another thing. Wouldn't a real uprising have a few more participants? Like, ten times more at least."

Garavel swallowed. "Just be glad there were so few, Commander. I had to pull guards off other duties to keep order here until you arrived."

I snapped my head around to face him. "You what?" I snapped at the guard captain as Nathaniel cursed under his breath in realisation. He began restringing his bow. Just knowing that he was capable of figuring things out was remarkably comforting.

Garavel blinked and stepped back a pace at my sudden agression. "I, er, I had to pull some guards off their posts to maintain order here. If there were more involved in the uprising, I wouldn't have been able to hold them away from the keep."

I slapped a hand to my face, while Nathaniel just grimaced. "You want me to handle this one?" he asked me softly.

"If you would," I said indistinctly from behind my hand.

"A peasant uprising consists of hundreds of people, not dozens," Nathaniel said, gesturing around at the bodies. "However, if you want to draw forces away from your real attack, you send out a force just large enough to force your opponent to respond."

Garavel's face paled as his eyes widened. "Then..."

"Then this is a distraction," Varel completed for him. "And the main attack is elsewhere."

"But where?" Garavel said, his eyes scanning the walls.

I rose to my feet and readied Spellweaver. "They're in the Keep already, man!" I snapped. "While you're out here playing with their pawns, they're taking control inside!"

* * *

><p>A group of nobles and some hirelings were waiting for us in the main hall. Instead of silk gowns and velvet doublets, silverite armour and slender swords were in fashion. Varel demanded to know the meaning of their presence. I resisted rolling my eyes. The man seemed incapable of staying on top of current events.<p>

"I am here about the good arl. The good arl you killed," Esmerelle said, glaring at me with hatred.

And there's the other shoe, I thought. The poor bastards out in the courtyard were just the overture, an attempt to weaken me before the main event.

"You're still loyal to Arl Howe?" Varel gasped, stating the obvious with impressive astonishment. I took the opportunity to look around the hall. Noblemen, noblewomen, assorted toadies and a handful of suspiciously competent-looking professionals. With facial tattoos. I might just have to pay a certain Antivan merchant in Denerim a visit after this.

"Rendon was good to us. Good to me. And now his death will finally be avenged."

"Over my dead body," Nathaniel growled. His announcement sent a shiver of relief down my spine, though I did hope his words were not prophetic.

One assassin I'd missed stepped out from behind a pillar and fired a heavy crossbow in my direction. My surprise at the new threat was trumped by Varel proving that despite appearances, he was capable of reacting to immediate threats. As I was dodging to the right, he placed himself on the line, ending up with the bolt sticking through his forearm.

"Thunder!" I snapped, pointing at the bowman with my left hand. "Rip his nuts off!"

One thing about men I'd learned - if you threatened to simply kill them, they often ignored the taunt. Threaten to immasculate them however, and suddenly they become a touch defensive.

The crow dropped the crossbow and dropped into a defensive crouch, one hand drawing a wicked dagger, the other cupping his groin. My mabari crashed into him like an avalanche.

Garavel had his two-handed sword out and screamed, "TRAITORS!" as he leapt into the fray with a huge, overhand sweep. Suddenly pressed on all sides, Nathaniel dropped his bow and drew silverite blades. The enchantments glittered in the firelight as he swung them around in a defensive pattern, eyeing the approaching nobles and assassins.

A dozen conspirators facing down a handful of defenders.

They didn't bring nearly enough firepower.

I lashed out with a concussive wave of mental energy. Noble after noble stumbled and swayed, rendered senseless by the magical force. The assassins however managed to retain their focus, and closed in on me.

Nathaniel held off two of them, his sword and dagger weaving a tight defense. The final three rushed at me, hoping to end the greater threat quickly.

They ran headlong into a sleep spell.

Honestly! Who doesn't bring templars to a magical fight?

* * *

><p>The fight was ugly. And short.<p>

The tattooed assassins were all dead, unfortunately. It would have been nice to be able to question at least one of them. Still, I knew where to find the crows in Denerim. Their deaths weren't a great loss.

Most of the nobles were also lying lifeless on the stone floor of my main hall. The rest were in the process of dying, their lifeblood spilling out a little too quickly for someone of my skills to save them all.

Not that I was inclined to try. The ringleader Esmerelle would have been my first choice for interrogation, but she fought with the determination of the damned. She would either succeed or die.

That level of commitment was admirable, I had to admit.

"First a riot, now this… Blast it. Varel's been hit. It looks glancing, he'll live."

I looked down at my pale and shaking seneschal. His breathing was coming in short, sharp gasps, and there was a definite sheen of perspiration on his forehead that had nothing to do with exertion. "That was a very brave thing he did," I offered, before turning to call over my shoulder. "Nathaniel? Are you injured?"

"No," he replied shortly, still breathing deeply after the recent exercise.

Thunder trotted up to me, blood staining his jowls. He wagged his tail and whuffed a satisfied greeting.

"Good boy," I said with a grin.

Varel's wound was not life-threatening. I scorched the fletching from the shaft and eased the bolt all the way through his arm. Once free, I healed the wound as well as I could.

The seneschal clenched his jaw tightly throughout the procedure. Once it was over, he took a deep breath and rose, a little unsteadily, to his feet.

"And thus ends the conspiracy," he said, with some satisfaction.

o_ooo000ooo_o

AN: Thanks once again to MB18932, Nightbrainzz, Rhagar, Alifangirl21, Pintsizedpsycho, Hydroplatypus, anon and Arsinoe de Blassenville for your wonderful reviews.

Things are still a little hectic, so the next update will be in a couple of weeks. After that, we should be back to weekly updates. Cheers.


	18. Et spiritus iustitiae

disclaimer type=standard

Anything you recognise is Bioware's. I daresay anything else belongs to them too.

/disclaimer

o_ooo000ooo_o

"You believe the Knight-Commander Darren had a hand in the conspiracy against you?" Cassandra said questioningly. "That the nobles involved did not act out of self-interest?"

Kathryn nodded, her expression sombre. "_Darrian_, and yes, he did. He was not just _involved_, he was the puppet master. As a rule, the nobility in Ferelden are self-absorbed, ambitious, amoral to a certain extent, but they are not stupid. And they are not suicidal."

The Seeker frowned at that. "Attacking even an accomplished mage without templar assistance certainly sounds suicidal to me. Attacking a mage of your power and skill without… well, it was the height of folly."

An agreeable snort greeted that point. "True, but consider what they actually did. This was no subtle jockeying for position or influence, no verbal jousting. This was a treasonous betrayal of their oaths of allegiance. Oaths avowed less than two weeks before." The elf paused. "Why don't you use that famed intellect to deduce why I thought that the Chantry was behind the rebellion at the time."

The short-lived, ill-fated and spectacularly unsuccessful rebellion had not figured largely in Cassandra's research. That is, beyond the fact that it had occurred and had been resoundingly dealt with. She closed her eyes and considered the event, reflecting on the predecessor decisions and the possible motivations behind the players. She sighed after a short moment. "I take it you refer to the ramifications had their revolution been successful."

Kathryn clapped her hands together. "Well done, that's one reason! Had they been acting on their own initiative, I would have to believe that the conspirators would assemble and attempt to kill all the Grey Wardens in an area currently under constant threat by darkspawn. I would also have to believe that they had enough confidence in their ability to explain their actions to the King, who also happens to be a Grey Warden."

"I take it your credulity does not stretch so far."

"No."

Once more, unwelcome thoughts reared within the Seeker's mind. "You believe that they would not… no, _could not_ successfully usurp the arling from you without Chantry support."

The Warden slumped. "No. Once again, you give the Chantry too much credit. And you don't give Darrian enough"

"Explain."

"While I'm sure he would have been delighted had I been killed, it was not the primary goal of Darrian's conspiracy to replace me as Arlessa." Kathryn smiled nastily. "Did you ever get to see a roll of the dead?"

"No."

"Pity. You'll find that the names on that list line up astonishingly well with another list. The list of nobles who supported Howe in his own treasonous attack on the Couslands. The nobles who knew about the Chantry's complicity in that atrocity."

A slow, horrible prickling spread over Cassandra's scalp as the elf's words merged into an unwelcome shape and dropped into her mind. Her breathing stopped for a moment, and her mouth went dry. No, surely they wouldn't have...

"There it is," the Warden said happily, grinning and nodding at the expression of mounting horror on the Seeker's face.

"He... they..." she stammered.

"He encouraged all the nobles who could possibly have testified to the Chantry's complicity into a suicidal confrontation?' Is that what you're trying to say?" Kathryn said nastily. "Or, 'They were encouraged to attack their liege lord with empty promises of intervention with the crown?' Which is it?"

Cassandra sank down onto one of the wooden chairs and dropped her face into her hands. It made an evil sense. And despite there being no evidence for the theory, the Seeker also had no doubt that it was true.

Damn them. Damn them all. Damn the Warden. Damn the idiot priests. Damn Darren.

She sighed deeply and looked up at the Warden. "I am getting so very weary of defending the indefensible," she said flatly.

To her great surprise, instead of gloating, the Warden simply nodded. "It's hard, having your beliefs shattered."

Cassandra snorted; darkly amused that she had somehow adopted a mannerism from the sarcastic elf. "My beliefs are intact, Warden. It is the extent of the rot within the Ferelden Chantry that I find myself disinclined to deny."

Kathryn scratched the back of her neck. "Rot? It was only a few years ago that Martel, the head of the Templar order, murdered High Seeker Aldren. In the Grand Cathedral, no less. And with your sword too, if my informant is correct. Don't try and claim that the Ferelden Chantry is anywhere near as corrupt as the festering pit in Orlais."

Cassandra's expression darkened at the reminder. "Acknowledging the corruption in one does not deny the existence of the same in the other."

Kathryn nodded, accepting the point. "True. Besides the fact that Darrian is Orlesian, I'm glad to see you accept it. You know why he initially came to Ferelden, don't you?"

The Seeker kept her face blank. Knight-Commander Darren had been assigned to the Denerim Cathedral long before the Warden had been recruited from the Circle. Knight-Divine Darrian had not, as far as she knew, ever visited Ferelden before he Vanished. And she had used the present tense to describe him, making it sound as though she thought he was alive. "No," she said, wondering what the Warden's answer would be.

"There are... factions... within the Chantry. Power and influence ebbs and flows between them. They join to form loose coalitions when their goals align, but these are transient in nature, and prone to betrayal."

Cassandra fought to stop herself rolling her eyes. "I am aware of the political realities within the Chantry," she snapped.

The elf took no offense at her tone. "I expect you are, at that. After the Blight, the ruling faction in Ferelden essentially failed. People saw the way the priests protected themselves while leaving the people to die on the Cathedral steps. People saw how not one single templar fought the darkspawn, while mages stood up to the archdemon and took it down."

"Again? We are covering this _again_?" the Seeker said with a sigh.

"It bears repeating," Kathryn replied with a dismissive wave. "After the Circle was given independence, the Chantry clung tenaciously its failed policies - presumably deciding that if something hadn't worked so far, then they should just do it again even harder until it did work. A hard-liner replaced Greagoir at the Circle. The Grand Cleric demanded concessions from the crown to which she had no right; to which even before the Blight she would have no expectation."

The Seeker nodded, agreeing with the analysis so far.

The elf adopted a lecturing tone. "Darrian recognised the self-destructive path upon which the ruling faction was set. He took it upon himself to change it. When Tavish," she stopped and snickered for a moment, "_fell down a flight of stairs _and broke his neck, Darrian vetoed his anointed, intensely mana-phobic replacement and installed a moderate instead. When Morag and Rylock stood trial, it was Darrian who negotiated with Eamon for their punishments."

Cassandra frowned, both at the blasé dismissal of Tavish's murder by the Warden's pet Crow assassin and at the suggestion that the Knight-Commander's negotiations could in any way be measured a success. "Then he did a poor job. Rylock executed and Morag rendered impotent."

The Warden raised a finger and waggled it back and forth. "Only if you think his objective was to minimise their punishment."

Cassandra took a deep breath. "So, this Knight-Commander engineered the downfall of his own allies? For what purpose?"

Kathryn glared at her. "The Divine wanted an excuse for a damned Exalted March! That's what! He simply obliged."

The Seeker pursed her lips together. Divine Beatrice had been ill-disposed towards Ferelden; infamously so, in fact. But had she been so blinded by hatred as to desire such a momentous action? "How does one follow the other?" she asked carefully.

Emerald eyes rolled, silently and eloquently deriding the question. "He 'engineered' a visible loss of power. To the Ferelden crown, he used the punishments of Rylock and Morag as symbols that the Chantry folk in Ferelden had lost their way. To the Chantry authority in Orlais, the issue was presented as a petulant newcomer to the throne stamping his feet and cutting long-held ties."

Cassandra opened her mouth to interrupt, but she was waved down.

Kathryn continued. "The Circle had unprecedented support from both the ruling class and the general public. So he released Bryant from his cell and installed him as the Knight-Commander of Kinloch Hold. To Eamon and the Circle, it was an admission that the mages had been treated poorly, and the situation would be rectified. To the Chantry, the loss of control was presented once again as the crown assuming powers and making demands to which it had no right. Do you see?"

Cassandra nodded mutely, waiting for the rant to subside.

"He played Eamon. He played Alistair. He even played Anora," her damaged voice returned to a more normal tone temporarily, "an achievement I was quite impressed by, in all honesty. But while they sat in the palace giving each other mutual applause for all their great accomplishments, the Big Bitch in Orlais had all she needed. While the Ferelden crown was thanking the Maker for delivering to them such a wise and reasonable Chantry representative, said representative had positioned a templar force in the south, ready to attack the instant the order to march was given."

For a long moment, the pair glared at each other. Eventually, the Seeker crossed her arms defiantly. "You could not have known that at the time."

The mage shrugged. "True. I was suspicious, but I had enough to do at the time that I took his actions at face value. He seemed determined to clear the air between the Crown and the Chantry, allowing a fresh relationship to develop. I assumed that he had two objectives. One, prevent the Chantry from self-destructing. And two, protect it from outside forces trying to take advantage of the turmoil."

"People like you," Cassandra said, her voice dripping with irony.

"Exactly," the Warden replied fairly, even pointing at the Seeker to acknowledge her point. "People like me. Had I not been in Amaranthine, I'd probably have pushed for even more concessions." She laughed bitterly. "I thought Darrian recognised that, as an institution, the Chantry would be distrusted for a generation or more. I thought that his actions were in response to that fact. Shows how much I knew, eh?"

Cassandra looked at the dejected expression and decided to offer the mage a tendril of camaraderie. "You could not have known the extent of his schemes, or of his true motives."

"Perhaps. But in a matter of weeks we had four previously unthinkable events occur. A templar executed for attacking a mage. The Revered Mother of the wealthiest Chantry in Ferelden stripped of her rank and banished to a convent. A decent man placed in charge of the Circle. And the Grand Cleric of Ferelden recalled to Orlais in disgrace. I should have asked myself if it was too good to be true."

The Seeker rubbed her jaw. "But there were still challenges to overcome, in terms of a successful March," she said evenly. "Relations between Ferelden and Orzammar were strong, and the dwarves would likely stand with your countrymen, or even restrict the lyrium trade. Under Bryant, the mages could well have supported your army too. And given their treatment during the Blessed Age, the Dalish would likely aid you against an Exalted March."

"True," Kathryn agreed. "And my Wardens would have fought too. But there was only one person capable of bringing all four forces together."

"You."

A nod. "Me."

"And so he... acted against you."

Another nod. "Oh yes. He _acted_."

The pair sat in silence for a long time, both thinking on just how the man had acted. Eventually, Kathryn said, "Would you like me to continue my tale? We are nearing our meeting with the Spirit of Justice. And somehow, I just know you are dying to learn more about it."

o_ooo000ooo_o

The next few days were long and tiring.

The bodies of the nobles and assassins were magically preserved for evidence, and stored in one of the cellars; behind a magical barrier. A single wagon containing the slumbering patient and the samples of ore and granite was brought into the Keep.

I ordered the other wagons along to Soldier's Keep without stopping at the Vigil. It was too risky keeping the contents close to a stronghold with so many glaring security holes. I did not know if the ex-nobles had any insider help. So Oghren, Anders and Keenan drove them off into the night.

Seranni was still unconscious when I put her through the Joining. Her sister refused to leave her side, and demanded to Join the Wardens as well rather than be forcibly sent away. Initially, I suspected that her acquiescence was an act, put on just so that she could remain only through Seranni's Joining. But she drank the blood without hesitation or fear. Both sisters survived, and over the next few days as the pair recovered, the elf mage's motivations became a little less clear.

It took Seranni a few days to recover from her ordeal. The Dalish warrior was shockingly weak after she first woke, and distraught at the realisation that she was no longer with the Architect. Velanna proved unable to calm her down, but long before that became apparent I locked them in a room on the far side of the Keep.

I created a pair of enhanced alchemical potions for them, which proved to be the key to breaking the Architect's hold. Duncan had once told me that the Wardens drink darkspawn blood to master the taint, but I was coming to a slightly different conclusion.

I hypothesised that the Joining was successful when a Warden managed to _incorporate _the taint within them. Be it by strength of will, fate, natural constitution, divine will or some other agency. It was Avernus' potion however, that truly enabled one to _master _the taint; to turn it into a weapon. And in mastering the corruption, Seranni broke the mental shackles the Architect had placed around her mind.

After accepting her new station, the young elf had been aghast on learning about her sister's actions after she had disappeared. The thought of so many dead humans and the inexorable reprisals against the Dalish clans horrified her. Velanna tried justifying her rampage, with little success. Not when it had taken a handful of Grey Wardens less than a day to rescue her. A rift between the pair formed.

A squad of soldiers was dispatched to protect the workmen sent to quarry the dark granite. With the area more or less free of darkspawn, enraged sylvans and homicidal elvish mages, the work progressed quickly, and the first shipments of usable stone arrived within the week, much to Glavonak's delight.

Herron was delighted with the quality of the silverite ore, though Wade was far more interested in the wood I'd harvested from the ancient sylvan. With all the raw materials I'd sourced, the pair had all the guards at Vigil's Keep well kitted out.

I spent the next few days sorting out the unending little things that needed my attention, during which time I found Nathaniel's advice invaluable. When not learning the art of administration, I studied the Architect's notebooks and gently interrogated Seranni about her experiences. She claimed not to remember much, but she did have some insights into how to keep the taint at bay in an individual. The concepts were documented and added to my growing report to Weisshaupt.

Woolsey responded to my passive-aggressive tactics of just sending her the bills by the simple expedient of investing the entire haul from the Kal'Hirol treasury into the project to get the roads and infrastructure in place to manage the anticipated trade. In order to make it semi-legal legal, given that I'd already documented the bonus, she essentially made each of the five Wardens part-owners of the enterprise. It was the only reason I didn't have her arrested on the spot. The expected income would be nice, but future gold was not gold to spend now.

With fewer bandits around and more traders based at the Vigil, tax revenues had started to flow once again. I had accomplished it with such alacrity that Woolsey gave me a large sum of gold as an advance on the income.

A warm friendship slowly blossomed between Sigrun and Seranni. Initially the duster escorted both Dalish elves around the Keep, ostensibly to familiarise themselves with the fortress. Seranni appeared to enjoy the cheerful dwarf's company, but Velanna soon abandoned the pair to their own devices. Those devices including some saucy, evening readings of the more illicit novels in the library - usually accompanied by Seranni's flaming cheeks and Sigrun's cheeky grins.

Velanna and I found enough similarities between us that we could remain civil. We spent our evenings swapping spell lore and theory. Much of her superiority complex came from her (quite justifiable) belief that my Circle-centric education had left me ignorant of my Elvhen heritage. But when introduced to the lost Dalish art of the Arcane Warrior, her attitude was readjusted quite satisfactorily. The idea that a shemlen-educated flat-ear knew spells thought lost for centuries knocked some of the incivility out of her. Once the tension between us had been drastically reduced, the majority of our time together was spent discussing the Architect and the possibilities around sentient darkspawn.

I chaffed at the unrelenting demands on my time. Being an arlessa was a lot less exciting than I had originally anticipated, especially since the mountain of paperwork and documentation I was required to read and sign did not appear to shrink no matter what effort I put into it. Morosely, I thought that even setting fire to it all would not help.

The sheets would probably reform out of the ashes and multiply just to spite me.

Finally, I managed to get the truly important items dealt with. I needed to get to Amaranthine to personally investigate Bann Esmerelle's papers and effects.

* * *

><p>Nathaniel agreed to remain behind at the Keep to prevent the paperwork from piling so high that snow would collect on the top sheets. His secondary task was to evaluate the remaining nobles in the arling for advancement; there being a few recent vacancies. I suggested that he also look to knights and younger, non-heir children for talent. I was not about to overlook someone capable just because of the randomness of birth order.<p>

Surprisingly, Adria's orphaned mabari seemed to discover a kindred spirit in Seranni. They were both lost in a new world. The mabari responded to the name Seranni gave her, Falon'fen. Though it was not yet a true bond, I was pleased to see them together.

Having three female elves in the party would usually be considered an invitation to any group of unwashed, unkempt men travelling nearby. However, the groups we passed were all uniformly polite and civil to us. The one exception was a pair of Dalish, who recognized Seranni and Velanna.

They were polite, if distant to Seranni, but spoke to Velanna with barely concealed hostility. Without context, I could not follow the conversation, but I refused to let them verbally abuse one of my Wardens.

Oddly, rather than exacerbate the issue, my defense of Velanna seemed to sooth the situation somewhat. On parting, the Dalish elves let the Warden sisters know that their clan's Keeper had passed on. Seranni was devastated, while Velanna looked... lost.

They refused to speak of the encounter, and neither Sigrun nor I pressed them, despite our curiosity.

We made good time, unencumbered by the plodding ox-drawn wagons, and we pushed to reach Amaranthine in a day. Still, the sun had set before we arrived at the gates, and it took a little chat with the gate guard to let us in.

I wanted to head straight to the ex-Bann Esmerelle's residence, but my audible stomach growls paid pause to that idea. Instead, we headed directly to the inn near the Chantry, hoping that it was still serving food this late.

The flickering torchlight and close smells of the city repulsed the Dalish sisters, allowing them their first agreement since their Joining. They both found the dancing shadows and bright torches hard to bear on their unaccustomed eyes, and the retch-inducing aromas of human and animal waste had them staring at me in disbelief that any sentient individual would want to live here.

I was glad I would not have to introduce them to an Alienage. They'd probably have started a riot.

* * *

><p>In the inn's common room, we ran into the lumpy-faced dwarf woman who had accosted Sigrun. She was sitting alone, in a dark mood, nursing a pint. On spotting our entry, she once again started berating my friend, before Sigrun gave her a heartfelt apology and offered her a ring as compensation for her actions. The ring owned by her noble friend in the Legion who had taught her to read.<p>

I questioned her choice, but Sigrun was adamant. She felt that she had done wrong, and was determined to do right.

Fair enough. I could certainly understand that.

I turned to Mischa and asked to buy the ring back. Suspicious eyes narrowed at my offer, but avarice and vindictiveness were alive and well in that gaze.

"Gotta be worth at least twenty sovereigns," Mischa said with a leer at Sigrun. It wasn't difficult to see what she was trying to do. But I wasn't playing that game.

"Take thirty," I responded immediately, to the accompaniment of sudden gasps of shock from just about every member of the party, sans Thunder. As they all looked at me in silence, I opened the purse at my hip and noodled through the coins.

"Thirty?" the dwarf eventually blurted. "She's not worth that!"

I gave her a pitying look. "I agree. She is worth far, far more. Here," I finished, holding out the purse of gold. "Thirty sovereigns."

Mischa stared at the offered purse for a long moment before taking it. I had half-expected her to snatch it, but she accepted the leather bag gently, almost with reverence. "This will go a long way." She frowned for a moment, before grudgingly adding, "You've done right, Sigrun."

Sigrun nodded, and gave the ugly dwarf a small smile.

My Warden was quiet for a time, but the food we ordered was hot, plentiful and filling. Her irrepressible cheer soon broke through once more, and an hour or so later, we left the inn - minds full of cheer and bellies full of hearty, rustic fare.

* * *

><p>Esmerelle's papers were very enlightening. A few of her personal journals were missing, but the account books were all there; at least, they were all in the not-quite-hidden-enough niche in her study that Sigrun spotted after a search of about three seconds duration. The Bann had been a scrupulously exact records-keeper. The set of books that carefully laid out all her official incomings and outgoings were thorough and seemingly complete, as though she was expecting an audit. The hidden set, with damning details on the identity of the smuggling gangs in the city, were far more useful.<p>

They were written in a cipher, of course. But the decryption key was kept in the same room, just in a different hiding place.

I am eternally grateful that stupidity is not contagious.

Aiden was summoned. His discontent for being pulled out of bed in the middle of the night soon vanished, as he planned a series of arrests. Documents detailing payments and cargoes were copied and recorded, ready for the magistrate's eyes.

Catching smugglers in the act was a far cry from having hard evidence of the crimes of those in charge of the organisation. You could always find more lackeys, but taking down those in charge made a huge difference.

It was past the midnight bell by the time I finally returned to the inn. I had no interest in staying in the ex-Bann's house; sleeping in her bed.

At sunrise, my Wardens helped the Constable and his men to arrest and detain the smuggler ringleaders. Some tried fighting, and briefly regretted the decision. Within a few days, half the criminals in the city were either in custody or exile, their caches of goods impounded. Hard currency and jewelry was confiscated. Textiles and manufactured goods were auctioned to merchants. Perishable foodstuffs were given to the Chantry-folk whose duties included feeding the poor.

All in all, it had been a profitable week. A bunch of dead traitors, dozens of smugglers caught or killed, and several hundred sovereigns worth of goods back in the economy.

On the fifth morning after our arrival, a grey, drizzly day, Oghren and Anders rolled into town.

* * *

><p>"Boss!" Oghren called, standing up on the wooden seat and waving at me. "What are you doing here?"<p>

I pushed my way through the bustling marketplace towards the wagons. "Oghren! Shouldn't you be on your way back to the Vigil?" I asked as I reached him.

He grunted, but leapt off the wagon, landing with a squelch in the thick mud of the staging yard. "Aye. But I figured you'd want me to chase down the deserter first," he grunted.

"Deserter?" My eyes flicked over to the other wagon. Anders was unhitching the ox, and there was no third member of the group. My shoulders and spirits dropped. "Keenan took off?" I asked rhetorically.

Oghren grunted an affirmative. The misty rain coalesced on his beard braids and dripped off the end. He always just seemed to ignore the weather. "Aye. Sparklefingers gave him something to drink one night. Took the pain in his legs away. He got the recipe and bolted. I figured he'd head back here to his lady. You seen 'em?"

I frowned, but shook my head. What was her name again? "No. Nina, wasn't it? I haven't seen either of them. But we only got here a few nights ago."

Anders stepped over. "Things are a little busier here than the last time," he noted, observing the crowd. "Did our Dalish friends make it?"

I gave him a smile. "Yes. Both of them. They're wandering around the city now, compiling a scorecard of all the ways you shemlen are inferior to them."

He looked a bit worried. "Is that wise? Velanna might decide it's a good idea to sink the city into the harbour!"

I shrugged. "They're having a bit of trouble keeping their disdain at those sort of levels. There's a wonderful bakery near the inn whose owner makes the sweetest pastries you've ever had."

"So?" he asked, baffled.

"So, Velanna and Seranni have discovered the joys of sugar. They have a sweet tooth worse than Sten. And the baker has a daughter working as a maid at the Vigil, and we saved her during the darkspawn attack. He offered to feed any Grey Warden for free, but that was a recipe for bankruptcy, so I insisted that we at least pay something. So, Wardens eat for copper, rather than silver."

He nodded, but suddenly looked at me, his face expressionless. "Kathryn, I'd like to talk to you. In private," he said his voice suddenly cold.

I raised an eyebrow, but nodded my assent. "As you wish. How was Soldier's Peak?"

"Dryden and his sprog are making a good go of it," Oghren said, scratching at his beard. "They're using it to store their stock. His brother is all set up; and I'd put his work against any of the Orzammar smiths any day. We picked up some good pieces from him. A handful of nice swords and a real good volcanic aurum sword and dagger set. The little hottie'll love 'em."

"Will I?" Sigrun asked, unexpectedly appearing at my side. "Or are you talking about some other hottie?"

Oghren coughed and spluttered a bit at being caught out. I looked down at her. "Where did you come from?"

She grinned up at me. "What? I'm not allowed to browse the market stalls?"

"Sure. But I didn't expect you to show up just then."

Sigrun shrugged, her gleaming Paragon armour iridescent in the misty rain. "I thought I'd track down Mischa again. The money you gave her will help to start a new store here, but I told her about the trading post you're setting up near Kal'Hirol. If she's as quick as she used to be, she'll be able to establish herself there. I think she might even forgive me completely if it works out." She looked up at me. "I think I get what you do. You help people to help themselves."

I smiled and nodded. "Sometimes, all someone needs is for someone else to believe in them."

She blushed lightly. "Thank you. Anyway, I was in the market and saw Oghren stand up on his wagon and yell out to you. I figured I'd come over." She clapped her hands and rubbed them together. "Now, Oghren, you said you had something I'd love?"

He nodded and reached into the wagon, looking quite relieved to be facing away from us. He pulled out a pile of sacking which unrolled to reveal an exquisite, golden-coloured sword and a matching, gleaming dagger.

Sigrun squealed in delight and grabbed the weapons, hefting them in a very competent manner. So competent in fact that several nearby bystanders backed away.

"Thanks Oghren!" she said, leaning forward and giving him a light kiss on the cheek.

Anders smirked at them, and then took up the narrative. "The _new pets _are settled in. You were right, you know. They're like stray cats." He reached around to his hood where Ser Pounce was ensconced and scratched the cat's ears absently. The feline pushed its head up against Anders' fingers, purring in delight. "You feed them a few times and they're your best friend. They produce a prodigious amount of shit, but they seem very happy with their new housing."

I couldn't stop a grin forming, even this close to that blasted cat. It helped that I could think about the things I could accomplish with tame dragons. "Where did you put them?"

"We found some stables built against the cliff behind the keep; they were originally designed to house the griffins. They were pretty decrepit, but solid enough for the new occupants. By the time we left, Levi's nephew had taken over their care. He's nutty for them. Oh, I had to dip into the gold you left at the Peak to pay Levi for their feed. I've got all the paperwork for that harridan back at the Vigil."

"Just so long as it doesn't turn into paperwork for _me_, I don't care," I said easily. "What happened with Keenan?"

Anders sighed. "He was in a bit of pain, and wasn't too keen on us not stopping at the Vigil. I diluted one of your lyrium potions and cut it with a healing salve. Add a pinch of some dried madcap and it makes a good pain-reliever."

I frowned. With a lyrium base, that could be bad news. "But wouldn't it be addictive?"

He nodded. "After a while, maybe a few months, sure. But it was only meant to be a short term solution, until I got his legs mended. Without healing, he'll be relying on the potion for pain relief. We really need to find him, Kat. He knows how to make it, but not how dangerous it is."

I grumbled. "It will have to wait. There are still darkspawn sightings coming in. Kristoff needs to be tracked down too. And he's in the Blackmarsh."

At the word, several nearby people made some signs to ward off evil. Wonderful. When I was given the arling, no one mentioned that there was a part that the population considered evil.

I needed to speak to Nathaniel.

* * *

><p>What a name. Blackmarsh.<p>

Oghren and Anders offered their own take on the name, pointing out that the 'marsh' suffix pretty much ruined any chance of the name being associated with anything positive.

The trip back to Vigil's Keep had been uneventful. In the past few weeks, either bandit numbers had decreased markedly, or they'd learned not to attack wagons. Either way, I was happy.

Anders had not been happy about the other Grey Wardens. Blood Magic did not sit well with him at all, and having two maleficars in charge of Soldier's Peak was just the sort of thing that made his usual, joking demeanor vanish.

Oghren did not see the problem, but then, self-inflicting an injury to tap your power was not a cultural anathema to dwarves. He'd fought side by side with a berserker who needed to be kicked in the daddy bag to get his rage going. Sigrun laughed when he pointed that out and declared that she had known of him too.

That wasn't to say that Oghren _liked_ the Peak's inhabitants. He thought that Avernus was bonkers and Jowan a wet blanket, but he couldn't care less that they could use blood to power their magic.

It was a point that Anders was unwilling to let go. He raged long and loud at me, rehashing tired old arguments that had long since been resolved in my mind. For the first time, I began to see the wisdom behind keeping secrets from Warden initiates. It was only really after facing darkspawn as either short, intense threat like a Blight, or a long, sustained campaign over years that your mindset changed to accept that Grey Wardens fought them by any means necessary.

It did not help that Seranni and Velanna agreed with him, and it was only that I swore an oath that I was not a Blood Mage, nor that I intended to ever become one that they agreed to let the matter drop.

It did give me some useful experience, however. I was going to have to man the Peak mostly with dwarves. And it put a bit of a crimp on my ideas to turn it into a templar-free Mage Circle. Unless I could somehow keep their abilities secret.

Nathaniel was proving his administrative abilities at the Vigil, keeping the matters requiring my attention to a bare minimum. It took me barely an hour to examine all his decisions, and for the most part I simply ratified them. The way he was going, he wouldn't be let out of the Keep to take a piss, let alone go on a mission.

Woolsey was still fully committed to establishing the Kal'Hirol trading post, to the point that she found no time to find something wrong with my actions of the past week.

Once more, I took my Wardens and left the Keep, to track down the wayward Kristoff.

* * *

><p>There was something very wrong with the unholy miasma that clung to the marsh like a lingering fart. The many nearby tears in the Fade contributed to the meta-physical polution, which to my consternation, we could do nothing about.<p>

It was not just the physical odour, which was bad enough, but the spiritual drain. Any humour expressed by my Wardens was only the darkest of sarcasm, the wit sharply biting.

It did not appear to be a recent condition either. It had affected the previous habitants too. Suicide seemed to be rather more popular here than in the saner parts of the country. A skeleton with an empty bottle of (presumably) something toxic had a scrap of paper in the other hand. Aparently, offering a trail of riddles was worth breaking off an engagement, and said engagement ending was worth killing oneself. It was trivial to follow the trail, ending with a powerful magical ring.

We found a scrap of parchment upon which the final Testimony of a merchant was penned. He had taken gold in return for spiriting three maidens away from 'their baroness', and had then accepted more gold from the baroness to hand them over to her. His guilt had also driven him to suicide, but his cache had been nearby.

Thunder and Falon'fen bounded ahead of us at one point, sniffing around an empty campsite. While neatly kept, it had obviously been unused for some time. I recognised the single-minded attention to order - it had been obvious in Kristoff's room at the inn back in Amaranthine.

I stiffled a groan and gingerly got to my feet. It took barely an instant to realise exactly where we were.

Sigrun gasped in horror at the 'sky'. She shrank back, eyes wild. "By the ancestors! Where are we?" She reached out and grasped Seranni's hand, who seemed quite pleased to have someone to hold onto. Thunder trotted over to the pair and gingerly licked Sigrun's free hand.

"The Fade," Anders said, still on his hands and knees and shaking his head to clear it. "That darkspawn's spell tore a portal and hurled us through it."

Velanna looked around, seemingly quite comfortable at her surroundings, but she did express surprise at the presence of the non-mage Wardens. "How did that creature bring the durglen here?" she wondered. "And the animals?"

I rolled my head around, trying to ease the stiffness. "Figuring out how to get back is more important," I pointed out. "Is everyone all right?"

Oghren sounded like he was on the verge of freaking out completely. "First I have to deal with your bloody dreams, and now the sodding sky's all messed up. If this is what having magic does to you, I'm glad I'm a dwarf!"

"Aye," Sigrun agreed fervently.

"We need to find a way back, and soon," Anders said, looking around. "Our bodies are back in the mortal world."

Oghren gulped. "You mean, a wolf could be chewing on my leg right now?" He spun around to face me. "We need to get out of here!" he insisted, his voice on the edge of hysteria.

"Calm down," I replied, my voice low. "Thunder and I have been trapped in the Fade before. There are ways out of here."

Thunder barked an affirmative, confident in my ability to return his pack to the proper world.

Anders and Velanna gaped at me in a comically similar fashion. "When were you trapped in the Fade?" Anders asked.

I shrugged. "A sloth demon trapped me in its realm while I was fixing the Uldred cock-up."

He frowned at me. "Having a quarter of the people in the tower become abominations is a bit more than a cock-up, Kathryn," he said sternly.

"Didn't you say that Mr. Wiggums took out three templars?"

It was his turn to shrug. "Well, I didn't say _nothing _good came of it."

A cry of distress caught our attention, which turned out to be the darkspawn who'd trapped us here. His voyage of self-discovery involved coming to the realisation that the Mother had betrayed him. He wailed and beat at his breast in the sort of theatrics you'd expect from a Denerim fishwife.

It didn't stop him from attacking us though. After we butchered the remains of his darkspawn force, he scarpered away, howling in fury and despair.

The Fade-version of the Blackmarsh was geographically similar; with each corresponding tear in the veil marked by a trio of desire demons performing a ritual. I assumed that they were working to keep the tears from being repaired from the far side. We killed them. Even had the assumption not been correct, I would have slaughtered them anyway, just on general principles.

"I hate desire demons," I grumbled as I scraped demonic ichor from my armoured boot by the simple expedient of wiping it against a Fade-log. "I really, _really _hate them."

Velanna raised an eyebrow. "Why these in particular?"

I didn't respond, but my silent flush gave Oghren a clue.

"Don't worry about it, Kat." He gave Velanna's chest a leer. "Not everyone can have such womanly splendor."

"Shut up Oghren," I snapped in lieu of a false denial.

Velanna glared at him like he was a pile of dogshit she'd just stepped in. "Avert your gaze, dwarf!" she demanded.

"Hur, hur," he chuckled, ignoring both our instructions. Sigrun slapped him on the back of the head. A noble effort, but so long as he drew breath, Oghren would not change.

We found some shrines that I'd first encountered when freeing myself from the sloth demon's realm while cleansing the Circle. I encouraged Oghren, Sigrun and Seranni to allow the power from shrines embodying physical traits to infuse their Fade-bodies. Velanna, Anders and I shared the power of the shrines embodying mental and magical prowess.

We passed a wraith that had formed around the remains of a strong, but fearful personality. What was left of the woman could not see us, and did not respond to our questions or presence.

Eventually, we reached the Fade-version of the township, or at least the walls of the town. A figure squawked in surprise on seeing us, and bolted. Though the figure bore the shape of a human woman, it turned out to be a specimin of local demonic fauna. We dealt with it accordingly. And permanently.

The township itself was full of spectoral figures. They followed the well-worn paths they had followed in life; stuck in a purgatory and unable to move on to the Maker's side.

There was one armoured figure however, who was obviously not a townsperson.

He glowed. He shimmered. Where proximity to demons was often a struggle to maintain a sense of oneself; standing near him was... invigourating. Intoxicating. His presence sang to my mana like nothing I'd ever encountered.

He was Justice. An anthropomorphic personification of the ideal. One of the Maker's first children.

o_ooo000ooo_o

"But he does not embody the ideal now, does he?" Cassandra interjected.

Kathryn's face screwed up into an expression of indecision. "Debatable."

"Do you honestly believe that?"

The Warden took a deep breath and sighed. "Justice, as a concept, is subjective. It is not justice to punish the innocent; that is obvious, indeed, the very definition. But when an act is defined as sinful by one party, and not by another, then justice to one is injustice to the other. It is a sin for a man to kill a man, but it is not a sin for a lion to kill a man. The lion is simply acting in a manner consistent with its nature."

Cassandra adjusted one of the chairs and sat. She steepled her fingers and leaned forward in thought. "Classically, I agree. But how can the act of destroying the Kirkwall Chantry be seen as anything other than an injustice?"

Kathryn gave a soft snort. "How parochial. Tell me, Seeker, do you see the corruption of one of the Maker's own creations as a sin? A spirit of an ideal, given life by the Maker himself, witnessed the unjust actions of the Chantry - and he acted in a manner consistent with his own nature. What is the sin in that?"

A cold shiver ran down the Seeker's spine, even as she outwardly scoffed. "Is it justice to fuel a murderous spell with the life-force of a virtuous woman?" But even as she said the words, doubts flourished. Was that the truth? Had a divinly-spawned spirit been corrupted by the actions of Chantry-folk?

The Warden shrugged, unconcerned. "If a spirit of Justice acts, can it be anything but justice? Can such a spirit act contrary to its nature? Perhaps it is your blinkered view of the world that is wrong."

"Or perhaps Anders corrupted the spirit. Even your friend Varric confirmed that he refers to it as a spirit of Vengeance."

Kathryn actually smiled. It was a wry smile, but a smile nonetheless. "Who corrupted him then? Anders, or those who abused their power over him? Listen Seeker, it is very simple. As horrific as the Anihilation of the Kirkwall Cathedral was, it was justice. Either Justice acted correctly in punishing the Chantry for its actions, or the Chantry was complicit in the corruption of an ideal."

Cassandra bit back a retort and took a long, slow, steadying breath. "We are getting side-tracked. What did the spirit do when you first encountered it?"

o_ooo000ooo_o

The spirit explained the awful history of the village. The Baroness was an Orlesian Blood Mage who retained her youth and beauty by sacrificing village children. The population eventually revolted, and burned her mansion down with her inside. She had cursed the village for their defiance, sundering the Veil and depositing the entire place in the Fade.

Now, rather than killing, she instead feasted upon the souls of those trapped here with her. Justice had finally decided that the situation was intolerable, and was determined to do something about it. Unfortunately, even in his own realm, he did not have the strength to challenge the Baroness alone.

Obviously, we had to do something about that. Loghain would have jumped at the chance to have been a part of the attack on the last remaining Orlesian occupier. It was in his memory that I leapt to the challenge.

The talking darkspawn appeared at the Baroness' side as we breached the gates. Few words were offered before the fight was joined. There didn't seem to be any need.

Predictably, my Wardens were more than a match for the Baroness' forces. Her minions were steadfast and loyal, but their individuality had been buried, leaving them predictable automitons in a fight.

Only the First was any threat. And facing three powerful spellcasters neutralised that threat quite satisfactorily. Justice disembowled it with a broad stroke, ending the fight.

The Baroness' reaction to losing immediately proved that the First had once again picked the wrong ally. You have to wonder just how idiotic you need to be to join forces with those constitutionally incapable of seeing their allies as anything other than expendable assets.

She used the fading remnants of his life-force to hurl us from the Fade, the final gambit to prevent us from killing her.

* * *

><p>Once again, I found myself cracking my eyelids open over sandy eyes. And, yet again, I found cat-piss in my hair.<p>

"Anders!" I bellowed. "That's it! That bloody cat is a hat!"

"Uh, Kathryn," he said weakly.

I spun around to vent my rage on him, only to have it vanish in an instant. The hairs on my neck stood up straight and proud. I stared in horror as the corpse of Kristoff rose slowly to its feet.

"Maker's breath," I breathed, readying a fireball.

But it was no demon posessing Kristoff's body. In tones of wonder, Justice revealed himself in the mortal world.

He was surprised as we were, if not as horrified. I'd seen skeletons before. And I'd killed animated corpses too. But never one so... recently dead. It gave the scalp-crawling horror a certain immediacy.

His memories of the world were filtered through Kristoff's own. He could recognise objects and people, but not instinctively. He had to pause to consciously rifle through what remained of Kristoff to maintain a conversation.

His skills were not in question, however. He hefted a spiked mace with elegent competence and ease. He was not going to be a liability during a fight in this world.

As we filed back towards the ruined village, I felt a distinct change in the air. The tears in the Veil had vanished. Though the Veil in the area was not robust by any means, there was no longer any direct egress from the Fade into our world. In each of the locations where a tear had been, we found enchanted items.

Had they been the source of the tears? Or had they manifested on killing the demons maintaining the tears?

It hardly mattered. A full set of powerful armour was assembled, and it fit Justice well enough. Discomfort did not seem to bother him, so ill-fitting straps and blisters were not a problem.

The village itself was not unchanged either. There was a new heaviness in the air, a certain sense of malevolence that pervaded the place like one of Oghren's silent but deadlies. The source was hardly a surprise. The Baroness had returned to the mortal realm with us, clearly baffled that her spell had encompassed her as well. Pleased beyond measure, but baffled.

It ended in violence, of course. It always did.

Of all the Wardens present, only Oghren, Thunder and I had ever laid eyes on a Pride Demon. It came as no surprise to me that the Baroness lost control of her form to the demon she had sold her soul to in return for youth and beauty.

Still, Oghren had charged forward at a dead run well before the transformation was complete. The demon spread its arms, bent forward and bellowed a challenge, which turned into a shriek of pained rage as the berserker's axe thudded deep into the beast's kneecap.

"Ha! Fight or talk, you sodding turd!" he shouted as he wrenched his weapon free and ducked under the wild return swipe that would have sent him flying half way back to Vigil's Keep. No one could duck quite like a dwarf.

I let loose with a blast of ice, freezing the demon in place. With one arm outstretched, it overbalanced and fell to one side.

That opened the floodgates. Each of my Wardens were determined to get their own licks in on the gigantic abomination. Three mages were more than enough to keep it frozen, petrified or paralyzed as the warriors hacked away. Chunks of ichor-covered demon flesh went flying all over the marshy ground as axes, swords and daggers rose and fell.

Seranni surprised us all by using Oghren's shoulder as a springboard, leaping high up on the demon's spine-covered back. Grabbing one of the spines for support, she jabbed her blade down hard into the demon's neck, opening a gaping, lethal wound.

She was thrown clear as the demon reared in agony, but the blow had been struck. Falon'fen was at her side in an instant, standing protectively over her as the demon thrashed around. With Anders on the scene, her injuries were seen to in a matter of moments, and it became merely a matter of waiting for the creature's body to realise that it was dead. The corpse hissed as spat as it dissolved into a vile slime, further polluting the dead land.

* * *

><p>Had I not been a witness, I'd have attributed the sun breaking through the perpetual cloud cover as poetic licence. But within an hour of the final death of the Baroness, a wind tinged with sea salt blew in from the north-east, and sunlight lit the bleak landscape.<p>

Justice expressed a desire to explore the world for a time, rather than return to the Fade. I was unconvinced, but the ritual to send him back could more easily be performed with the lyrium stockpile back at the Vigil.

There were still a faint sense of nearby darkspawn, however. We split up, Seranni coming back to the Vigil with Sigrun, Thunder and me, while Oghren, Anders, Velanna and the Spirit of Justice would remain behind to eradicate the lingering darkspawn threat.

With any luck, Ser Pounce would have an accident.

o_ooo000ooo_o

AN: First, thanks to my reviewers - Pintsizedpsycho, MB18932, queenseeker, Mike, MrPowell, Alifangirl21, Eucharion (well done! My 100th review!), Melidel and Arsinoe de Blassenville.

Second, sorry for the delay in this chapter. The company I work for is going through a restructure in preparation for an IPO, and they had a competition for someone to be 'the voice' of the company. I entered, and won. And while I'm still a long way short of my end goal (being the first on Bioware's call list for voice actors for Dragon Age 3) it was a lot of fun narrating the company's online training modules and branding slideshow.

I have received some messages from people asking about the style of foreshadowing events in the Kathryn/Cassandra sections before describing them in the main story. It's a technique I saw used in Brecht's play "Mother Courage and her children", and I wanted to try it.

So, one more Awakenings chapter, then back to the original plot.


	19. Architect of your mother's demise

disclaimer type=standard

Anything you recognise is Bioware's. I daresay anything else belongs to them too.

/disclaimer

o_ooo000ooo_o

"Why did you not take the Spirit of Justice back to Vigil's Keep with you immediately?" Cassandra asked.

Kathryn raised an eyebrow. "Because Kristoff's wife was due to arrive. I hoped to get back to the Vigil before Justice. I figured it would be better to give her fair warning."

The Seeker blinked at the unexpected answer. "How in the Maker's name did you explain that her husband was dead and that his body was inhabited by a Fade Spirit?"

The Warden winced. "With great difficulty, since his group caught us up a day out of the Vigil."

o_ooo000ooo_o

The trip back from Blackmarsh was so uneventful it was almost tedious. We stopped at the silverite mines to review and examine the changes.

Glavonak's masons were hard at work, excavating stones from the granite face. They worked with intriguing precision and incomprehensible techniques, managing to chip into the rock face with thick metal levers and break off slabs of hard stone with amazingly consistent thickness.

We entered the mines and took some time going through what remained of the Architect's effects. Seranni helpfully showed us some hidden rooms and passages. She explained how some of the Architect's experiments were conducted, but was embarrassed at the fact that she had no idea why, or for what purpose. As far as I could determine, the experiments were either useless or so advanced as to be beyond me. And I'd researched magical effects a time or two in the past.

We dismantled everything, ready for transport. If Jowan or Avernus decided the variouse pieces of equipment were without value, I'd dispose of them, but not before.

Some more dragon rearing equipment was uncovered and packed with the stones bound for Vigil's Keep. The bodies of the drakes and dragonlings we'd killed were stripped and cleaned for whatever was valuable. The small bodies left bones too brittle to smith, but the wing membranes and belly scales were remarkably soft and supple. Perhaps they could be made into work gloves that would protect as well as thick leather during the manufacturing of poisons and bombs. It was a thought. I'd prefer to wear thinner gloves while working, but only if they were just as protective when handling poisons.

The soldiers on duty guarding the masons were bored with the easy duty, which meant that the older, more experienced guards viewed it as welcome, while the younger ones were itching for a more exciting time. It was something of a shock to discover that many of the bored, younger guards were years older than me.

We joined a delivery of granite on its way to the Vigil. I was getting quite good at driving a pair of oxen. With a book of lore on my lap, a mild cold salve on my fingers and a folded cloak under my bum, I found it a pleasant way to spend a productive afternoon.

Seranni thought it boring however. And unfortunately, she had her sister's predilection for offering her opinion to the world. She and Sigrun ranged out far and wide, the pair making a surprisingly good scouting team. At camp, the dwarf proudly showed me the rudimentary woodcraft skills she'd learned, collecting wood, setting the campfire and preparing the brace of hares the pair had snared.

Seranni, just as proudly, demonstrated her own newly learned skills by deftly extracting my purse from my pocket, much to Sigrun's embarrassment. I dismissed the duster-dwarf's stammered excuses with a wave, pointing out that I expected my Wardens to share their skills, even those that had a less than stellar social standing. If any Warden under my command ever found themselves in a situation with no resources, I wanted them to have the ability to fend for themselves.

Hunting and woodcraft were all well and good, but pickpocketing and theft were just different names for hunting in an urban environment.

The next day, while we were still a day out from the citadel at ox-speed, the rest of the Wardens caught us up.

"Maker's breath!" I shouted as I caught sight of them. "What happened?"

Oghren, with barely two and a half beard-plaits remaining, grumbled, "Sodding dragon is what happened." He dropped a roped bundle of several bones I expertly spotted as coming from the legs of a High Dragon. The slight shimmering they made threw me a bit though.

Anders, his robes shredded and then inelegantly mended again, clarified. "There was a dragon made of stars. Damned thing could split itself into separate glowing globs and then reform. It was bloody nightmare to put down."

Justice, his exquisite armour dented and creased by what would have been a mortal blow (to a _mortal_, that is) said, "The beast once ravaged the landscape, before it was trapped in a pocket of the Fade by the baroness. It could no longer assume its original true form; instead, it created a spectral version of itself. We inadvertently released it, and were attacked."

Velanna, was wearing an ill-fitting leather jerkin over the tattered and burned remains of her robes, looked at Oghren with far less hostility than she had in the past. "I thought us doomed. The beast created a barrier preventing us from escaping its rampage." She paused, swallowed, and continued, "O-Oghren saved me from its claws more than once."

The berserker shrugged, looking quite uneasy. "She was in my way a couple of times," he responded gruffly.

"Not so," Justice interjected. "The elven mage was in mortal danger several times, and the dwarf warrior intervened each time to prevent her death."

I sighed as both Oghren and Velanna blushed mightily. "Justice? You're not supposed to expose a mutually agreed lie if it prevents someone from being embarrassed."

He regarded me curiously. "Truly? How odd. Falsehoods are an anathema to me. How is it that such an abhorrence can ever be justified?"

Dwarf and elf shuffled uncomfortably under the grins from the rest of my Wardens. I sighed and patted Justice's hand. "Justice, everyone could figure out what happened, but by knowing yet not admitting that you know, it spared them any humiliation."

He looked downcast. "Then I have wronged them. I must apologise. I must make this situation right."

Oghren coughed and waved his hand. "Don't fass yoursel'," he muttered, slipping deep into his old accent.

Velanna, still bright red, agreed. "Apology accepted," she said with such a lack of expertise that apparently it was the very first time those words had ever passed her lips.

Anders grinned at the pair, and resumed the tale. "We found a couple more darkspawn, but they weren't a problem. But the, er, spectral dragon really did a number on us. I had a needle and some thread in my boot, but it was barely enough to get my robes modestly useful. We had to scavenge a small leather tunic for Velanna; her robes were a little less," he cleared his throat, pausing to fight back the smile that threatened to appear before finishing with, "_functional_ than usual."

Velanna unconsciously crossed her arms over her chest, her face scarlet.

I nodded, careful to prevent any hint of amusement in my expression or voice. "I see. Well, we can wait until we're back at the Vigil for a full debriefing. I'm proud of the fact that you can handle a full grown dragon, especially one that's not all there."

* * *

><p>The rest of the trip back was made in a sea of companionable chatter; so long as the subject matter did not touch upon recent events involving dwarfs and elves and who saved who. Justice and Anders seemed quite content to talk with each other, both having a burning desire to right the injustices done to mages. Velanna quietly expressed her reservations to me about letting a Fade Spirit roam free in the mortal world, many of which I agreed with.<p>

I pointed out that we had the required lyrium back at home to send Justice back if need be. It mollified her somewhat, but for all her fears, she was pleased that I shared her caution.

Our arrival back at Vigil's Keep was public knowledge long before we made it to the gates. Dozens of people mobbed us at the main portcullis, all shouting out tales of woe that merged into an incomprehensible aural mess. I held up my hands and called for calm.

Eventually, the mob ran out of urgency, but there didn't seem to be much in the way of clarity. Pleas for aid with the darkspawn had me wondering what was going on. We were Grey Wardens, for pity's sake; that was what we did.

I pushed past the gathered crowd and into the courtyard. I barked a few orders and sent my Wardens off. One of my sergeants managed to get a handful of guards into a rough circle around me, allowing an easier time to enter the Keep.

Where the scene was pretty damned similar. Only inside, the individual mob members were wearing nicer clothes.

"Kathryn!" Nathaniel's voice cried out over the panicking nobles. "Thank the Maker!"

"Nate," I greeted him informally as I pushed forward to the high table. "Please tell me what's going on before I lose it completely."

He winced. "About six hours ago we got word that a darkspawn army is marching on Amaranthine. They're heading straight for the city, about a day out. We've been receiving a steady stream of refugees all day, and more are coming."

I slammed my hands down on the table in frustration. Just as I was getting a hold on the arling, this had to happen. "Sodding wonderful. Have you heard word from your sister?"

He blinked at me, a small worried smile on his face. "Yes, thank you. She's up in my room with her husband. They got here an hour ago."

I nodded. "Good. That's one worry sorted. Right, how big is the army?"

He looked down and shuffled some papers. "Estimates range from fifteen hundred to a hundred thousand."

I coughed. "That's a pretty sizable margin of error."

He almost cracked a smile. "You noticed. The more reliable sightings are in the range of a few thousand. Seven at the most." He shook his head. "There aren't enough troops in the city to defend against that many. You've got them out patrolling the roads and farmlands. The city guards won't be up to defending the city against that many darkspawn."

I refrained from adding my opinion; namely that the guards weren't up to defending against anything more than a litter of unweaned kittens. "The walls will help, and that's why I agreed to pull the troops out of the city in the first place. But one thing that could really tip the scales in our favour would be a few battlemages at the gate."

He swallowed, paling in realisation. "You're going, aren't you?"

I nodded. "Yes. My arling. My responsibility." I didn't mention that I could get there quickly, and likely destroy the army myself. Unless there was no other option, I'd prefer to keep that a secret. Mages were distrusted enough without me revealing the full extent of my powers.

He shook his head. "Kathryn, not even Maric, Loghain and my father would have willingly faced an army of thousands in that city without their own forces behind them. This is suicide!"

I grinned at him with humour I did not feel. "Nate, I only had two other Wardens at my side when we charged into Denerim six months ago. I faced the archdemon with a handful of warriors, a dog and a dozen mages. Apart from Loghain, we all survived. We can do this."

He took a deep breath and let it out, suddenly looking a lot more confident. "Yes ma'am."

I nodded and smiled at him, then turned to a guard next to me. "Go and gather my Wardens. We need to plan this out."

* * *

><p>"You are <em>not<em> leaving me behind!" Oghren shouted, smashing his gauntleted hands down on the table, making the mugs along its entire length jump.

I smiled at him. "I'd sooner be stonekissed and go back to the Circle," I replied easily, his loyalty buoying my own spirits. "But those of us who go will not necessarily survive. I can't leave the arling and the country without Grey Warden protection. So I'm only taking some of you."

My Wardens glanced around at each other with identical questioning glances.

I looked at Nathaniel. "Firstly, chain of command. Nate, you're my second. Whatever happens, your priority is to clear the arling, and then the rest of Ferelden of any darkspawn. If I don't return, you're Warden-Commander."

Oghren barked a laugh at Nathaniel's expression and slapped him on the back, not the least bit offended at not being my chosen successor. "That'll go down well with the pike-twirler."

"Not his decision," I said firmly. "I know it will be difficult, especially since you'll need to report to Alistair and Fergus, but I believe in you. I've left the necessary documents in my study. Avernus and Jowan at Soldier's Peak can supply you with all you need to recruit more Wardens. You can do this."

"T-thank you, Kathryn," he said, emotion clouding his usually expressionless face.

"Right. Velanna, I need you with me. Between us, we should be able to keep the darkspawn away from the walls."

The Dalish mage nodded at me without fear.

Seranni objected, however. "You cannot take my sister without me!"

It appeared that the rift between them was not so great as to trump family ties. I glared at her. "I can and I will. I need you here. We will need scouts and archers more than ever in the coming months. I'm sorry Seranni, but I can't take you."

She opened her mouth to object, but at a glance from Velanna and an elbow nudge from Sigrun, nodded her acceptance. "Yes, Commander."

"Sigrun," I started.

"Fighting a horde of darkspawn with almost certain death awaiting? Don't even think of leaving me behind!" she declared; naked glee in her voice at the prospect of certain death in battle.

I hesitated. I hadn't planned on bringing her along.

Seeing my indecision, she plowed on in an attempt to justify her inclusion. "Come on! I'm no scout, I can't use a crossbow worth a damn and they don't make bows small enough for me. If there's going to be city-fighting, you need someone like me!"

I blinked away the sudden relief at not having to order someone to their probable death. "Very well. Oghren, Sigrun and Velanna, go and prepare. Travel light - armour, weapons, potions and bombs. Nothing else; we need to make good time. I've got some drakescale that should fit you in a pinch, Velanna. You're not going in robes. No, don't argue."

Seranni snorted at that. Velanna glared at her.

"Go and say your goodbyes," I instructed them. "Anders?"

He gave me a mock expression of disappointment. "Aw, I'm not going on the suicide mission?"

I rolled my eyes. "No. I need you to go through the documents and notebooks we brought back from the Architect's laboratory. Find some weakness, a gap in his knowledge, anything. Look over my notes too."

He frowned, but nodded. "All right. I presume you want me to send copies of my research to the other Wardens?"

"Yes, but a copy will need to go to the Circle for their input. The Architect is dangerous, you saw him too, and we may need more magical help to end the threat." I ran a weary hand across my eyes. "And I need you to keep an eye on Justice."

He frowned. "He doesn't need to be watched."

I shrugged. "Perhaps. But if we don't come back, you're the only Warden capable of sending him back to the Fade. The lyrium is down in the basement. If the worst happens and you need some money, sell some of it. Maybe you can buy that chapeau you want."

His expression darkened, even in the face of my attempt at humour. "I'm not sending him back just because you're afraid of him."

"I'm not afraid of him and I'm not suggesting you do," I snapped, the tension of the past hour getting to me. "I just want you to be aware of your responsibility, all right?"

"Fine. Though you might want to keep an eye out for his wife," he muttered.

I frowned at the apparent non-sequitur. "What?"

He gave me a shrug of helplessness. "Kristoff's wife was in the courtyard when we got back. She spotted Justice after you were escorted away and thought he was her husband coming home. She didn't take his appearance well at all."

I groaned, covering my eyes. I really could not imagine what it would be like to see your missing husband looking alive and well only to discover he was neither, but still walking around. "I really don't need this right now. Where is she?"

"Dunno. On her way back to Amaranthine I think. She took off out the gate in tears."

I stared at him. A Warden's widow was heading back to a city under attack by darkspawn? "You didn't stop her?"

"Hey, I'll willingly face down darkspawn and dragons for you; I owe you that much for freeing me from the Circle. But never order me to take on an hysterical woman. I'm not that crazy."

* * *

><p>Sigrun and Oghren were prepped and ready to go within an hour. Velanna took somewhat longer to get ready, even with her sister squiring. She was unaccustomed to donning armour, and argued long and loud about how justified the various steps involved were. The drake-scale fit her frame well enough, though it was a bit tight around the piece Oghren would no doubt call the, hur-hur-breastplate.<p>

The four of us looked fabulous as we strode out through the milling crowd of nobles; like true legends of lore. My archdemon-scale armour was as eye-catching as ever, and Oghren looked imposing in black-enameled, Legion plate with his gigantic axe over one shoulder. Sigrun's paragon-forged armour was a glorious, glittering vision. And Velanna cut a very, very flattering figure - in a way that I never could.

Everyone present believed we were marching off to our deaths, and we certainly looked the part. It did not escape notice that there were no humans among us. I wondered in passing if that fact would be advertised on the chance we did not return.

* * *

><p>We hurried along the now familiar road. A steady stream of frightened refugees headed south against our progress. Oghren and Sigrun both ran at a fast, steady pace, in silent concentration. Their Grey Warden constitution augmented by both their dwarven heritage and Avernus' alchemy allowed them to run for hours at a half-sprint.<p>

As mabari, Thunder and I loped alongside them, easily keeping pace. Between his heavy breaths, I heard Oghren grumbling something about mabari chariots, and it being a chance lost.

Velanna however, made progress much faster than any of us. She could travel swiftly through the earth for great stretches, and was able to cast that spell every other minute or so without exhausting herself. She covered the distance at about half a mile a minute, and wasn't even breathing hard.

Despite our speed, we arrived too late. The darkspawn were already at the city.

We fell on a group in front of the gates with naked ferocity. Tainted heads arced over the field of battle wherever Oghren swept. Groups of darkspawn froze and shattered under elemental forces directed by Velanna and I. Sigrun and Thunder tore apart their ranks.

Damn, but we were good at killing darkspawn!

A cheer rose around us as we put the last one down. Muted at first, but growing in intensity, the sound of victory echoed around the field.

The joy did not last. The temporary victory gave us the opportunity to take stock of the situation. The darkspawn were not just outside the walls of the city. They were already inside.

What stunned me, after wiping tainted blood from Spellweaver's blade, was that Constable Aiden and several of his city guards were outside the walls too.

I stared at the man, trying to conceive of a scenario that could possibly explain how the guards ended up out here and the darkspawn inside. My expression must have been readable even to him, he blushed and explained that the tainted creatures had erupted through the ground. There had been fighting in the city before anyone even saw darkspawn on the horizon.

Before I could question why that meant that he should abandon the city, another darkspawn approached. Another disciple, this one with a bluish tabard, ostensibly to signify its allegiance with the Architect.

It raised its hands in what would have been a gesture of peace had it come from a human. It begged to be allowed to deliver a message. At my nod, it moved forward, limping slightly. It told of the darkspawn army on the way to Vigil's Keep. That it was the Mother's plan to destroy the fortress utterly.

Panicking, Aiden suggested we abandon Amaranthine and leave for the Vigil. Sigrun shouted an objection. Velanna agreed with Aiden's suggestion, not fearfully but pragmatically, believing the city lost. Oghren nodded his agreement.

I turned to look at Amaranthine. Behind the walls, there were still human screams.

"No. Not while there are survivors. We need to kill the darkspawn here," I declared.

The darkspawn messenger shouted, "No... no! If you stay, the Mother will get what she wants!"

I shook my head. "Tie this thing up. It has information I need." I turned to my Wardens as some guards tentatively carried out my order. "Nathaniel is more than capable of defending the Vigil, especially with all the people there. You saw the work Voldrik has done on the walls. The soldiers are all equipped with Wade's work. You think a darkspawn army would break them?"

Oghren grunted, and shook his head. "Ah, you're right. Nate'll keep that place safe for ya."

Velanna frowned, but agreed. "Nathaniel is most capable, for a human. If anyone could keep your fortress safe, it would be he."

Sigrun clapped her hands together. "Right then. We're all agreed. We save the city."

* * *

><p>Save it we did. Just like the our arrival at Vigil's Keep a few weeks ago, we washed the city clean of tainted monsters. We found a truly staggering number of survivors, who were directed to make for the gates.<p>

There were powerful darkspawn individuals leading the attack. One carried a staff that Velanna claimed after she directed a network of living vines to tear its previous owner apart. She gasped as she picked it up, and I could almost feel her natural magic sing in harmony with the weapon's enchantments.

The difference was marked. The staff magified the power of her spells that called upon the earth and plants. With that weapon in her hands, she became a true danger on the battlefield.

She wasn't the only one to discover a suitable weapon. We cut down a group of darkspawn who'd been destroying part of the merchant quarter - one of them carrying a staff I recognised as being taken from a local shop. The vendor had called it Spellfury, and I'd have bought it the first time I saw it, had he not demanded more than twice what Voldrik had required to fully repair and upgrade the walls around the Vigil.

I claimed it now though. A flood of magic raced up my arm as I grasped the enchanted wood. Velanna's staff complemented a mage that lived in concert with nature. Spellfury was tailor made for someone who was the very reason templars were invented - a mage who just blew shit up. A mage like me.

I sheathed Spellweaver and swung my new staff around in an arc. On a whim, I sent a bolt of sizzling energy at a distant darkspawn. The wood bucked under my fingers, seeming to test the grip of its new owner. It must have decided that I was suitable to wield it - the silver pulse of magic that burst from its tip shot across the divide, impacted and blew the hurlock's head apart.

Sigrun and Oghren gaped at the staff for a moment, but their grins quickly mirrored my own.

"All right!" the three of us said in unison, before we burst into laughter.

Velanna just sniffed, and went back to caressing her own weapon.

* * *

><p>There were remarkably few darkspawn in the city. Even taking into account their ability to enter the city from underneath, it was their appearance and presence that caused the most damage to the defensive lines. People panicked, ran and hid, ceding the city to only a few score of the horrific creatures. Still, we killed each and every one we found.<p>

My new staff fit as though it were modeled on my magic. I had been using a sword for so long that I had forgotten exactly what it was to be a mage. Spellweaver had been a blessing when I first learned the Arcane Warrior arts; having an armoured magic user in our party had been invaluable. But now, with this staff, I finally remembered who I was.

I was a mage.

We found the majority of the survivors barricaded in the Chantry. A quick survey revealed almost half the population safe behind the thick walls and doors. Most were huddled in fervent prayer, led by a priest at the far end. A couple of templars hovered around the doorway, weapons drawn and ready.

Several people, on recognising us, pleaded for help to locate loved ones. As frustrating as dealing with the multiple yammering voices was, I could not help but be moved by their plight. Even Velanna's cool demeanor thawed momentarily. We promised to send any survivors we located here, and vowed to clear the city of darkspawn.

It proved to be a simple, if tedious job. We ranged all over, and even under, the city. I had the ability to sense darkspawn within the city walls, and could tell when the last pair fell under the Crown and Lion Inn - one to Thunder's mighty jaws, the other to Velanna's nature magic.

Oghren grumbled a bit at the fight being over, but was happy to head back up into the inn. He filled various skins and earthenware jugs from the few unbroken bottles and kegs as Sigrun noodled around in the wreckage for anything interesting.

I told my Wardens to split up and help search the city for survivors hiding from the darkspawn. I had a darkspawn prisoner to interrogate.

* * *

><p>Beyond the willingly divulged location of the Mother's lair, the darkspawn messenger had no other viable information. That's not to say that it did not have anything to say, just that it refused to cooperate. Threats did nothing, and I had no way of appealing to the base desires of greed or lust. I ended its life quickly and painlessly, before looting and incinerating the corpse.<p>

"Drake's Fall," I told my Wardens once we regrouped in the Chantry. "It's on the map of the arling in Kristoff's room at the inn. Supposedly, it's a decrepit and crumbling fortress in an area called the Dragonbone Wastes."

Sigrun giggled. "This arling has the silliest names. It's like they wanted to scare people away rather than have them come and settle."

Velanna actually snorted with amusement. "What the shemlen call 'Dragonbone Wastes', we of the Dalish call, well, it translates as either 'Graveyard of the Dragon' or 'Dragon's Rest'. It's much more poetic in our tongue, but it is not a name given lightly. Ancient dragons lived and died there. The ground still holds the shapes of their bodies. Their bones still reside there."

Oghren perked up. "There's dragonbone just lying around there? How much?"

Velanna blinked in surprise. "I, I do not know. I have never seen it myself. But I have heard tales of entire skeletons casting shadows on the dead earth."

His green eyes lit up, but I shook my head. "Don't get too excited. Someone would have striped the place clear of usable bone long ago. But we'll see if there isn't some we can take."

Sigrun checked her weapons. "We should go and check that map at the inn and then go. Should we go back to the Vigil first?"

"No, Nate and the others will have to keep the Vigil safe. If the Mother's army is in the field, it's not protecting her. We take her out, that's one faction leader gone."

Oghren grunted and headed for the door. "Can't wait," he mumbled.

I frowned. "What's up with him?" I asked Velanna.

She pursed her lips. "The widow of your Warden Kristoff is over there in one of the transepts. Oghren spoke with her while you were interrogating the darkspawn. He… drank heavily afterwards."

I winced. I was happy that she made it back to the city safely, but I wouldn't wish a confrontation with her upon any of my Wardens.

* * *

><p>The trip towards Drake's Fall was far less demanding that the previous leg to Amaranthine City. We sensed some darkspawn nearby, but never close enough to take the time to root out. A day after leaving the city, we approached the Mother's lair.<p>

The convoluted path to the ruined castle was bustling with darkspawn. Entertainingly, factions from both the Mother and the Architect were represented in the rapidly dwindling population.

Hurlock against hurlock, genlock against genlock. Children fighting both. The forces of the Mother and the Architect slaughtered each other as we marched closer. Occasionally, we got to use our weapons.

"Bugger this for a game of soldiers," Oghren grumbled after he mopped up a pair of children that was all that remained of a dozen who had died at the hand of another darkspawn. "Sodding bastards are taking all the fun."

A familiar scream echoed across the landscape. Velanna stiffened momentarily, and gripped her new staff tight. "That is a-"

"-dragon," I finished for her.

"Aye, here we go again. Hopefully them babies you've got at the Peak are a mite more pleasant to be around once they're big and all."

The High Dragon guarding the castle roared out of the sky and slammed into the ground nearby, causing the ground to shake. I arced Spellfury around and launched a petrification curse. With my spellpower amplified by the enchanted weapon, the entire dragon solidified. I fancied that the frozen expression on its face was one of extreme surprise, but that may just have been wishful thinking.

Velanna called forth dozens of vines and weeds from the earth, which wrapped around the dragon's legs and tail. Dwarven axe began hewing chunks of flesh from the beast's legs, but Sigrun used her dagger and short sword in tandem to climb the body.

The dragon roared as it overcame my magic and wrenched itself free of its living bindings. Sigrun managed to keep her grip even as she flopped about, but the dragon's enormous tail tore free and swept hard into Oghren, sending him flying. He grunted audibly as the initial blow blasted the air from his lungs. His almost flat trajectory was interrupted by a column of stone, and he crumpled to the ground at its base.

"Oghren!" Velanna cried, dashing to his side.

I cursed under my breath. Velanna had never fought as a member of a team, and by leaving my side and Thunder's protection, we were weakened as a unit. As much as I was pleased that she had found some level of camaraderie with one of my Wardens, her timing could have been better. I weaved another spell, and called on elemental cold to freeze the dragon in place. Once more, its movements were restricted, and Sigrun resumed her climb.

"Aaah, _sandstone_!" I heard Oghren wheeze, the ultimate dwarven curse. I gave a silent prayer that with Velanna at his side, he'd survive.

I launched spell after spell, avoiding the more indiscriminate ones. I cycled between damage and containment - bolts of arcane energy, paralyzation hexes, tight lances of lightning, bursts of intense cold and spirit- and life-draining curses. I downed one of my ultra-potent lyrium potions in a rare pause and just kept casting.

The accumulated damage would have been substantial, had it been on any other target than such a gigantic beast. Sigrun however, was well placed to finish the battle quickly, and I had no wish to harm her with errant spellcraft.

The plucky dwarf clambered up the serpentine neck, jabbing her dagger and sword in as she went. My eyes were starting to lose focus at the amount of magic I was unleashing; I was onto my third lyrium potion.

A vision appeared that buoyed my morale. Weaving unsteadily, Oghren charged back into the fight, his determination even tougher than his dented armour. With a grand, overhead smash, he pinned the dragon's front foot to the ground.

It shrieked in pain, head rearing back. Sigrun took the opportunity to jump at it, and grabbed on. She skillfully opened an artery on the side of its neck, then as its head bent forward, jammed her sword behind the skull-ridge.

* * *

><p>It took a fair amount of healing to get the duster back on her feet after crashing to the ground from that height. Fortunately, Velanna was a competent healer, compensating for my lack of talent in that area. She was no Anders or Wynne, but then again, very few people ever reached their level of skill.<p>

"That was soooooo much fun," Sigrun giggled, shifting her armour back into position. "I hope the dragons we raise will let me ride them."

"You are insane," Velanna declared. "You could have been killed, falling from that height!"

Sigrun looked back at the elf, her pretty face expressing mild confusion. "I'm already dead," she pointed out.

That led to a lecture on the principles and ethos behind the Legion of the Dead. Velanna's clan had not met many Children of the Stone, as she called them, and never a Legionnaire. No matter how often she insisted that Sigrun was indeed alive, neither dwarf in our party believed her.

Rather than let the discussion turn into an argument, I pointed out that we now had even more exceptional quality material for the Grey Wardens. Velanna actually laughed, a low, soft chuckle that sounded quite unused. Faced with three surprised expressions, she suggested that maybe we should be called the Purple Wardens, after the colour of the archdemonscale I wore.

Eventually, the conversation had served its purpose, and we were rested enough to continue on into the ruined building the dragon had been guarding. I cast a spells that coated our weapons with elemental frost, placed my body partially in the Fade, and enhanced my spells' power and hardened my skin. Velanna followed suit with some of her own spells, based on the power of nature.

Thus prepared, we entered the ruined fortress.

* * *

><p>Inside, the decay of time was less apparent. The stone that made up the floor and walls was flaked and cracked, but to a far lesser extent than the ravaged building skeleton outside. The atmosphere was close, heavy. The stench of broodmother lingered in the air like sticky smoke, coating everything. I wanted a bath. And probably another one or two after that.<p>

We smashed every pulpy grey egg that spawned Children we saw; a disgusting job, but satisfying in its own way. Thunder seemed to find the experience enjoyable, if his happy thrashing around was any indication. He was due a bath or two as well.

We made good progress, deep into the earth. Deep, circular pits lined with stone stairs gave the appearance of inverted towers. We descended these carefully, battling groups of darkspawn at irregular intervals.

At the base of one of the 'towers', a dense, oily blot on my senses resolved into the Architect, standing on a stone ridge above our position. Beside it was the dwarf female from the mines. The emaciated darkspawn spread his hands and floated down to our position.

It made no move to attack, and I couldn't explain why I did the same, allowing it to land mere feet from our position.

In a mucus-tainted voice, it asked for a temporary truce, and once again, I had no choice but to allow it. My preference, my desire, to simply attack it on sight was somehow lost the instant I laid eyes on it.

It began justifying its actions as I mentally fought the power it held over my. The blood it had taken from me was obviously being used to stay my hand, a realisation that _infuriated _me. I imagined cracks appearing in the chains he held over me, but I could not break them.

Velanna predictably ranted about the kidnapping of her sister. The darkspawn did not even bother to wave its hand in dismissal, it simply kept its attention on me. Its voice would have been soothing, trustworthy, had it not been for the shucking, phlegm-filled breathing difficulties. It described how it tried to free the Mother from the Old Gods' Call. How she 'reacted poorly' to her new-found freedom.

Through a tongue made numb, I pointed out that not all darkspawn appeared to desire freedom.

It sucked in another deep, audible breath and tried to express regret, a concept I gathered it was unfamiliar with. It continued its exposition as I silently cursed my unresponsive limbs. Unexpectedly, my attention was drawn to its words when it mentioned the Old God Urthemiel.

The Architect started the Blight! Both Thunder and Oghren growled in similar fashions as they realised it too.

Heedless of our reaction, the Architect continued to speak, offering assistance to us to kill the Mother. In return, it would take its followers and delve deep into the earth, promising there would be no more Blights.

"So," I said, all but trembling in effort to break the invisible chains on me. "My Wardens and I kill the Mother, and you leave us in peace, is that it?"

"Precisely, Commander."

I nodded, drawing slow, steady breaths. "So, we join forces just as we did to the Baroness in Blackmarsh?"

The Architect looked baffled for a moment, but just a moment. With his attention fully on me, he missed the true danger.

Oghren recognised my statement as an order, and his axe smashed into the darkspawn's side, hurling the tall, slender frame hard into the stone wall. The instant the Architect's gaze broke mine, control of my limbs returned, and I whipped Spellfury out and around, a sizzling bolt of arcane energy already forming at its tip.

"Sodding freak!" the berserker shouted, pulling back his axe for another go. Thunder leapt past in one bound, savaging at a limb.

The Architect's dwarven ally opened her mouth in an eerie, silent warcry and charged in to defend her master. Sigrun met her charge with one of her own, and the pair faced off in a savage duel. Blade rang on shield and armour. Sparks flew as weapon edges met, lighting up the dim area in flashes of stark shadow.

The fight was not pretty. Even though it looked as thin as to be fragile, the Architect was barely winded by Oghren's initial strike. Its magic seemed limitless as it casually loosed spell after spell, needing neither lyrium nor time to gather breath. It shrugged off my petrification and freezing spells, and sent both Velanna and I flying with a fiery pulse of elemental magic.

Velanna shrieked as her hair ignited. But I was suddenly quite sure she was relieved to be wearing flame-resistant drakescale, rather than her usual cloth robes.

With no clear advantage, I settled into a steady, damaging chain of spells. The last syllable of one merged easily into the beginning of the next. Maintaining my protective magicks proved too draining, and I downed potion after potion trying to keep up a magical barrage.

It was as potent a display of magic as I'd ever performed. I pushed myself to the limit, but despite it all, my spells were overmatched; indeed, even had Velanna joined in the assault instead of simply keeping us alive, we'd have been overmatched.

But we were Grey Wardens. And we killed darkspawn, no matter what.

With a little help from Thunder, Sigrun had the tainted dwarf woman down in less than a minute. With Oghren and Sigrun working in tandem, I could at least take the time to draw a deep breath.

Sigrun found a gap in its defense, and sliced her fine dagger across the back of the Architect's knee. She received a hard slap for her trouble; hard enough that it sent her flying. But it stumbled and went down on the damaged knee, bringing more of it closer to Oghren's height.

The ginger dervish swung his axe with all his considerable might, but the darkspawn's skin was rock hard. It leaned away slightly, and the enchanted weapon struck a glancing blow.

I was burned, frozen and crippled with pain from spells from the Architect's repertoire. Velanna's competent healing skills were sorely tested, and I began relying on potent healing salves as well as the enhanced lyrium potions made with the recipe found under Vigil's Keep. The dwarves bashed, sliced and hacked at the creature, only to be repeatedly tossed aside.

Finally, it was Thunder who broke the devastating stalemate. Trailing torn skin and burned fur, he bounded off Oghren's shoulder and latched onto the bony ridge sprouting from the back of the Architect's neck, his weight causing the darkspawn's back to arch.

Sigrun leapt, one arm a dislocated, dangling appendage, and buried her sword under its chin.

* * *

><p>In the long silence that followed, we simply sat where we fell, gulping air and regaining our wind. The battle had been an eternity of panicked action.<p>

"Ancestors, I hope the Mother is easier to put down than this one," Sigrun declared.

There was a chorus of agreement.

It took a few hours before we felt ready to approach the next challenge. My vision was tinged lightly blue, a fact that I kept to myself. Too much lyrium in your bloodstream during high stress events like battle sometimes caused the tiny blood vessels in your eyes to seep. Anders would no doubt say that it would be several days before it would be safe for me to use a potion to boost my magical reserves.

It occurred to me that not all of us had experience battling broodmothers. I mentioned it, and Sigrun turned to Velanna and started giving her a quick lesson in what to expect when fighting a darkspawn breeding factory. I let her talk.

We pushed forward, through a narrow aperture, made even narrower by the glistening red organic coating of pungent mucous. Beyond was an enormous cavern that stank so much my eyes watered.

Attached permanently to a raised, rocky outcrop, squatted the Mother. She had been a human woman before her transformation. A pretty one at that. Her scarred face and blood-rimmed eyes hinted at a long-lost beauty. The first pair of her exposed breasts were full and lush, but the sight of the remaining pairs quashed any lust or leering comment from Oghren.

She spotted us and screamed and bayed crazily, waving both her arms and tentacles about. A mass of chittering, scurrying darkspawn children flooded out of the disgusting pods arrayed around her body.

"Hold this line," I shouted, raising Spellfury aloft. I chanted deliberately, refusing to rush. On the final syllable of my spell, a swirling mass of frigid air appeared in front of the Mother, quickly forming into a blizzard of ice. The storm froze and slowed many of the children in their frenzied rush towards us, leaving only a handful for Oghren, Sigrun and Thunder to handle.

Velanna cast her own spell, sucking the life energy from the closest children. "You missed!" she shrieked. "The broodmother is beyond your spell's range!"

I nodded as I took a breath. "For now," I replied calmly, and began chanting once again. This time, I tapped into the magic of elemental lightning, duplicating the spell combination I performed for the Cousland brothers many months ago.

Once more, the crackling power of an electrical tempest fought the established frigid storm, before the magical waveforms merged - and magnified. As the power surged out of me, I dropped to one knee, trembling at the effort.

The created storm was even more powerful than the one I cast on the field of battle. The original limits of the first spell swelled and burst, creating a vast tempest of ice and lightning covering twice the area. The Mother screamed - first in rage, then in agony - as pure destruction rained down upon her bloated body. She could not run, or defend herself.

The rest of the children perished in their pods or just after emerging. Every tentacle the broodmother threaded towards us froze and shattered. My Wardens allowed their guard to drop as my magic tore the mother to shreds.

Long moments later, the magic storm played itself out. Every tentacle was shredded, every grub a greasy smear.

Velanna and Sigrun were staring straight at me, their mouths and eyes opened wide in similar, comic expressions of astonishment. Oghren, who'd seen that particular spell combination before, just chuckled and wheezed at the looks on their faces.

Despite my spell's devastating power, the Mother still lived. Torn, bleeding and broken, she still burbled and hissed epithets at us through blood-spattered lips. I leveled Spellfury at her and whispered, "I'm so sorry. The Maker will watch over you." With the last dregs of my magical strength, I called forth a sizzling bolt of arcane energy, and blasted her head from her body.

Thunder licked my hand, his liquid-brown eyes looking up at me in worry. I reached around and gave his ears a scratch. "Thanks, boy."

He whuffed, and wagged his stubby tail.

Oghren shouldered his axe and gave a hacking cough. "This place stinks even worse than Felsi's cooking."

I found myself chuckling, but the laugh turned into a hacking cough. "Remind me never to stop by for dinner."

o_ooo000ooo_o

AN: Many thanks to my reviewers - Pintsizedpsycho, Nightbrainzz, Melidell, MB18932, Isabeau of Greenlea, Alifangirl21, Jessica Hawke, Arsinoe de Blassenville and Guest. Cheers guys.

My voiceover work went well, and they've asked me back to do more. I'm taking this as a good sign...


	20. The dawn of a new era

disclaimer type=standard

Anything you recognise is Bioware's. I daresay anything else belongs to them too.

/disclaimer

o_ooo000ooo_o

Cassandra eyed the Warden carefully. "_In one afternoon_, you and three other Grey Wardens-"

"Four. Thunder too."

"-four, fine. In one afternoon, you and _four_ other Grey Wardens killed a high dragon, the Architect and the Mother?"

"Is that a problem?"

With a sigh, the Seeker shook her head. "No. It's just that from all I've heard and read of your accomplishments, it does not approach the reality. The lecture Anders gave the Ferelden Circle of Magi on the Architect indicated that the powers it commanded were on a par with the ancient Magisters of Tevinter. The possibility of a return of those powers caused some disquiet in the Chantry, but you and a handful of your allies killed him easily."

Kathryn snorted. "Easily? You call that easy?"

"You all survived, did you not?"

The elf raised a hand to her face and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Cassandra, we were a couple of lyrium potions away from being slaughtered. Had I decided to replace three of them in my bandoleer with bombs or healing salves, we wouldn't be having this conversation. We were outmatched, poorly positioned, and ill-equipped to take on such a being."

o_ooo000ooo_o

I stepped out of the ruined building ahead of my Wardens, taking deliberate deep breaths in the early evening air in an effort to get my hands to stop trembling. With the deaths of both the Mother and the Architect, we'd done our duty as Grey Wardens. It was like my fate was once more my own affair.

The air around Drake's Fall seemed clearer, crisper – though probably not for much longer, what with the nearby dragon corpse beginning the long, drawn out process of decomposition. But even flushed with lyrium as I was, and even the thought of all the value that could be extracted from the corpse, I could not see the task of dressing the carcass out as anything other than a tedious chore.

Sigrun, not surprisingly, was rather more enthusiastic.

"Can I have that dragon's skull mounted in my room at the Vigil?" she blurted, jumping from one foot to the other. "Pleasepleaseplease?"

I couldn't help but smile at her exuberance, remembering a time that I was like that – just after Duncan had saved me from Greagoir's retribution at the Circle. "You'd have to get rid of your bed. It won't fit otherwise."

Such a sacrifice did not seem too daunting to the feisty dwarf warrior. "I don't care. I'll cut my mattress to fit and I'll sleep in its mouth. Not even King Bhelen would have such a bed!"

Velanna winced and rolled her eyes at the duster's antics, but I just shrugged. "I've seen the room Bhelen sleeps in. You'd be absolutely right; his bed is pretty boring. We'll need to bring some wagons here and some equipment to dress and strip the body; it might take a few trips. But sure – the skull is your trophy."

She squealed and bounded forward, giving me a rib-creaking hug. "You run the best outfit!"

Oghren's gravelly voice added its approval. "Aye, I'll drink to that," he said, raising an earthenware jug to his lips.

Velanna looked a bit abashed, but nodded. "I must agree. You have been most welcoming and accommodating." Thunder shimmied under her hand, pressing the back of his head against her fingers. He looked imploringly up at her and gave her a small wag of his tail and a bark of encouragement. "Your hound however, leaves much to be desired," she finished disdainfully, deliberately pulling her hand away. "Leave me be, you flee-ridden monstrosity."

Thunder, who had been on the receiving end of both Morrigan's public chastisement and numerous private treats, had no problem with someone insulting him if it meant that he'd get ear scratches and jerky bits when no one was looking.

I let out a breath, and despite my dizziness and disorientation, a smile flooded my face. We'd done it. We'd killed both the Mother and Architect, and had not lost a single Warden. Hopefully, I added mentally, thinking about those at Vigil's Keep. "Thank you. All of you. You each performed beyond my expectations. But we should get back to the Vigil. Hopefully, there are still darkspawn left for us to kill."

Oghren grinned at me. "A woman after my own heart."

Darkness gathered in my vision.

* * *

><p>Consciousness returned slowly. It took some time for me to remember that there was a 'me'. I let out a groan and tried raising a hand to my head. I could barely move.<p>

"Kat?" a vaguely familiar voice grumbled. "Hey! Velanna! She's awake!"

I winced at the noise, and tried opening my eyes. A blurry form appeared in front of me, looking as though it was lying across the sky.

Wait? Was I lying down?

"Kathryn? Here. Drink this."

Something was pressed against my lips, and I felt a hand behind my neck pull me forward. I sipped from the vial.

"Good. Can you sit?"

I breathed an affirmative-sounding grunt, and tried my best. It took some effort, but I managed to sit straight with only slight assistance. "Wha' happ'n'd?" I whispered.

"You fainted," a worried voice said. I took a second or two to remember the name that went with it. Sigrun.

"Did no'," I retorted. "I don' fain'. 'ma Grey Ward'n."

A bossy, no nonsense voice cut in. "Fine. You passed out. How much lyrium did you drink?"

Velanna, my memory supplied. "Dunno, lots?" I replied.

"The whites of your eyes are blue, Kathryn. And your tears are glowing faintly. How much did you drink?"

I frowned, trying to remember. My potion bandoleer held thirty-two vials, and I normally had twenty-four lyrium potions in it. I reached down and ran a finger around the soft leather, trying to count the empty slots. I gave up after two failed attempts and tried counting only the occupied slots.

Damn. Only two left. Must have had…

"Tw-twenty-two."

A deep, rough voice swore. That voice I knew. Oghren. "Twenty-two? Stones, you've got stones, Kat."

"Twenty-two potions can be dangerous, but they should not have had such an impact," Velanna insisted. "She is practically perspiring lyrium!"

Oghren snorted. "Not the piddly little buggers you make from a pinch of dust. Kat brews her own from a recipe we found at the Keep. Bloody dangerous stuff if you ask me. She just drank enough juice to run their bloody Circle for a year." He fumbled at my belt. "Here, there's a couple left in her belt. Have a sniff."

Even as blurry as she was, I could see her recoil from the concentrated bouquet. She swore in Elvish. "You drank twenty-two of those?" she demanded.

Mentally, I was in no condition to defend myself. "Maybe?" I offered.

Velanna turned to Sigrun. "Help me get her on her feet. Oghren, I need something for her to drink."

"I'm your man then. What do you need?" He started pulling out various bottles and jugs.

"Water. Tepid."

There was a pause. "Huh? She need a drink or a wash?"

Sigrun snorted despite herself. "Some people drink water, Oghren. It's actually quite good for you."

The berserker grunted. "Aye, I heard that. Didn't want to believe it. Unnatural sodding freaks. Fine, I'll get some. There's no running water around here mind; it'll be muddy."

Velanna waved that away. "I can purify it. But I need it quickly, Oghren."

"Right you are. Be right back." He wandered off up the bone-laden path, his footsteps crunching on the gravel.

"Can you stand, Kathryn?" she asked me.

I nodded slowly. "Think so. Need some help."

Two arms weaved around my shoulders, one lithe and wiry, the other corded and thick. They had my slight frame up and supported in moments. I found myself able to stand with only minor swaying.

"Come. Let us get you away from here. I know some keeper lore that will help, but we need to find a place with trees and grass. This place has neither."

We made an odd group as we made our way out of the Dragonbone Wastes. I was between Velanna and Sigrun in height, which made their support easier. Thunder wandered around us in circles, whining at my distress. We caught up with Oghren as he was coming back, bearing a bulging wineskin.

"Here you go. It's from a puddle under the bones of a big bastard up ahead. It's not tainted, but I'd shave my beard before I'd drink it."

"Thank you," Velanna said, accepting the skin. I was rather happy that her chilly attitude was a lot more thawed around Oghren. It made her much easier to deal with. She tipped some of the water onto her fingers. She mumbled a few words as she let it drip back into the skin. There was a long, drawn out flare of magic that tasted of wind and ice.

"What spell was that?" I asked.

She handed me the skin. "A purifier; it cleanses water." She paused. "Drink up. Drink as much as you can."

I nodded, and raised the skin to my lips. Instead of brackish and grimy, the water was… empty. Water taken from a running stream was cool and refreshing, but this stuff was sterile. It slaked my thirst, but that was it. I lowered the skin after a few swallows.

"More, Kathryn. You need to flush the lyrium from your body."

I sighed, and continued drinking. By the time Velanna relented, I was so full that my armour straps were noticeably tighter across my belly.

"Uh oh," I said as I handed the half-full skin back.

Sigrun sighed. "Oghren, go over there and turn your back, would you?"

"What for?"

She put her fists on her hips. "Because Kathryn needs to relieve herself."

"Wouldn't be the first time I've seen her take a piss," he objected. "Stones, I've seen her do her business in the middle of a fight!" He paused, eyes focused on that embarrassing incident in the past and chuckled to himself. "Heh. Good times."

I felt myself blush at the memory. He just had to bring that one up, didn't he?

"Oghren! Go!" Sigrun snapped, imperiously pointing off to one side.

"Fine, I'm going," he grumbled. "We need more men in this sodding outfit."

Velanna held me upright as Sigrun unbuckled the relevant parts of my armour. I squatted and performed my ablutions. Velanna gasped in shock.

"What?" I asked.

Wordlessly, she pointed to the ground beneath me. Craning forward, I looked down. "Oh."

Pooling between my legs was a damp, expanding puddle. It was perfectly normal, except for the glowing azure radiance.

"Okay," I said slowly and deliberately. "No more lyrium for me for a while."

* * *

><p>It took some time, drinking the rest of the sterile water, and producing another glowing puddle, but eventually I'd purged most of the excess lyrium in my bloodstream. My kidneys ached abominably, making walking upright difficult. Velanna admonished me for my recklessness; the irony amusing me. The worst of the tremors faded.<p>

We headed south-west along the road skirting the western edge of the Feravel Plains, rather than try and trek south-east across them. It would not have been difficult for Velanna or me, but neither Oghren nor Sigrun would have enjoyed slugging through leagues of muddy, fertile earth.

We camped the night a few miles out from the Dragonbone Wastes. None of us wanted to spend the night in the eerie draconic graveyard. Much better to camp off the road in the shadow of a hill on soft earth. With a nature witch and an elementalist, maintaining a campfire was not a problem. Thunder was invaluable in locating some game, and it was almost midnight before we were all full on greasy, spit-roasted hares and wild boar.

Velanna's nature magic was as effective as promised. By the time she had finished, I felt both refreshed and exhausted – refreshed from having toxins removed and exhausted because the toxin in question amplified my spellpower.

We rose late the next day, finished off the game from the evening before, and set off. The trip was punctuated twice by the necessity of killing wandering darkspawn. The tainted monsters appeared adrift in the absence of both faction leaders; they lacked all direction.

The road terminated where it met the North Road, not far from Knotwood Hills and Kal'Hirol.

Ogrhen suggested that we check to ensure that no darkspawn from the routed forces were fortifying the place. Sigrun agreed wholeheartedly, having survived two such campaigns. The side-trip would not be arduous, and would take little time. Indeed, probably less time than we'd already spent stopping occasionally to butcher isolated groups of darkspawn.

A half-hour's march out from the chasm over Kal'Hirol, we ran into a heavily armed and armoured patrol of folk no more than five feet tall. At our approach, they adopted a ready, but not aggressive stance. Their armour was well maintained, but it was the family crest on the shields that drew my attention. These dwarves belonged to the Aeducan family.

I didn't pause. "Which of you is the squad leader?" I asked.

A dwarf pulled off his helmet, revealing a familiar face with a close cropped red beard. "Warden," he greeted me neutrally.

"Piotin," I said in similar, inflectionless tones. We'd been introduced, but had never spoken beyond the official greetings at Bhelen's coronation. "It's good to see you. What brings you out here?"

Bhelen's cousin tucked his horned helmet under one arm. "Kal'Hirol. The Shaperate authenticated the weapons and artifacts you sent, so King Bhelen ordered that the fortress be brought back under dwarf control. I must say, the situation in your arling does not impress me."

I raised an eyebrow. "Situation? What were you expecting?"

He all but sneered. "There are darkspawn all over your lands, Warden. We have encountered three bands today. I did not expect that you would allow that."

I nodded. "Yes, an army attacked the City of Amaranthine yesterday. We routed them, of course, but now we have to chase down and kill the survivors."

Piotin spat on the ground. "Bah, the 'spawn don't ever run, Warden," he said, clearly not taking my words seriously.

Oghren stepped forward, a glint in his eye and a humourless smile on his lips. "The only thing you know about fighting darkspawn is ordering your flunkies to do it for you," he scoffed.

"Oghren Kondrat," Piotin sneered. "Still alive I see."

Oghren snorted. "Observant as ever. Still clinging to the Aeducan name in lieu of actual skill?"

I cleared my throat. "I take it you two know each other?"

Oghren gave me an evil grin. "Oh, aye. Poo-tin and I go way back. He used to win all the Provings I wasn't entered in."

"Which was almost all of them," Piotin interjected. "You were too busy drinking mud and clinging to your wife's name in lieu of actual achievement."

Well, wasn't this awkward? "As much as I love listening to old friends reminisce, we are in a bit of a rush," I said, hoping it would be enough to stop the pair from coming to blows. "Piotin, when did you get here? What is the status of the fortress?"

With one last threatening glare at my companion, the dwarf turned back to me. "We arrived three nights ago. We only found vermin in the fortress itself, but a lot of corpses. You did good work there, I'll give you that."

"Much obliged," I conceded, trying not to take offense. "We need to get back to Vigil's Keep, but I'd like to have a quick look at the area near the chasm I've set aside for trading."

He jerked his head, and his squad began marching in one direction. "You know the way. We'll be back there at the end of our patrol." Without further ado, he plonked his helmet back on his head and joined the march without as much as a farewell wave.

"What a pleasant chap," Sigrun observed wryly. "Is he really King Bhelen's cousin?"

Oghren scratched at the base of his lopsided beard plaits. "Aye."

Sigrun clapped me on the back. "You must have been really persuasive in that letter, Kathryn. By sending Piotin Aeducan, King Bhelen is taking a personal interest. Maybe there's more than one expedition coming?"

Velanna frowned. "More than one? Why?"

I hummed, rubbing my chin. "Some of the deshyrs I met would probably order the slaughter of hundreds of dwarves to control a fortress like Kal'Hirol. I wouldn't be surprised if they'd see it as a way to set themselves up as rulers of a rival Thaig."

Oghren shook his head. "Doubt it. Bhelen might not be able to take complete control himself, but fifty loyal dwarves fortifying Kal'Hirol would make taking it by force sodding hard. More likely that there're dwarves from different families here, and Poo-tin is in charge to keep them in line. It would take a brave dwarf to challenge him, I'll admit."

Sigrun gave him a sly glance. "You seemed to know each other. Didn't get along, eh?"

Oghren snorted and spat. "Sodding nug-lover was always lording his noble blood over the rest of us. He never did take too kindly to me using his beard to polish the floor of the Proving Ground."

That caused Sigrun to look surprised. "Really? The Legionnaires used to tell stories of Piotin Aeducan's Provings. His reputation is very impressive."

Oghren regaled us with tales of the many, varied and humiliating ways he defeated Bhelen's cousin in training and the Provings. All of the descriptions were graphic, most were unlikely, and more than a few sounded physically impossible.

We ran into two more patrols, both of which were noticeably more welcoming than Piotin had been. They even gave us their reports on the darkspawn activity. In the spirit of cooperation, Velanna suggested (with remarkable restraint, given the lack of veiled insults) they march abreast, rather than in single file, over damp ground; pointing out that there would be less mud that way. They took the suggestion enthusiastically, and waved us onwards.

It was almost noon when we reached the chasm. The industrious folk had set up several temporary pavilions on the surface, mostly housing dwarves working lumber cut from nearby trees. Dozens of wagons, mostly empty, were arrayed in neat, compact rows to one side. They'd obviously brought a lot of stuff with them.

Though there were a few dwarves on the surface, most of them were deep in the abyss - industrially building, shifting, and cleaning. The rickety wooden scaffolding had been either replaced with new bridges and ladders or reinforced, making the descent much less nerve-wracking. A group of about a dozen were assembling a system of pullies and levers around a platform. I examined it curiously, trying to discern its intended function, until Oghren pointed out that it would be a way of lifting goods to the top of the cliff.

A massive fire was burning at the far end of the abyss; almost atop the very spot we first encountered Sigrun. It appeared oddly positioned, until Velanna noticed that the stone walls above it acted as a natural chimney.

A steady stream of dwarves pushing barrows marched out of the tunnels leading to Kal'Hirol, and dumped their loads of the slimy, fibrous tainted material that had coated the walls and floor of Kal'Hirol on the flames. Suddenly, the position of the fire made perfect sense. Grey Warden immunity or no, there was no way I'd have wanted to breathe in that smoke.

Interestingly, a lot of the dwarves doing the hard grunt work bore brands on their faces. Bhelen might be a right bastard, but he was a shrewd bastard. Offering casteless dwarves paid work outside of Orzammar was probably a masterstroke.

We were greeted very cordially by the mine's master engineer; essentially, the place's administrator. She introduced herself as Madison, and I recognised her as one of the Shaperate's apprentices. She burbled happily about the superficial finds they'd made so far, and how much more there was to discover. She was generous with her praise at our efforts in clearing the fortress, and specifically at my invitation to let the dwarves retake and settle here.

I gestured to the rough maps she had spread out over temporary wooden tables. "The land above has been set aside for a human settlement based on trading," I informed her. "We plan on upgrading the roads first to accommodate the necessary traffic, but eventually there will be a permanent trading town up there. If there's anything you need, let me know and I'll see that it's added to the first tranche of supplies."

Madison nodded happily, her topknot bouncing in an entertaining fashion. "Oh, I will. I'm sure someone here has an idea of what we need. I wouldn't mind some nugs, if you have any spare. We haven't had freshly roasted nug in weeks."

I coughed. "Um, nugs aren't all that common on the surface."

"Really?" she asked; her eyes wide in wondrous horror at the thought.

"Really," I confirmed, trying to express sympathetic despair at the obvious failings of the surface community. It was a thought though; nugs were perfectly happy living in tunnels underground, and Vigil's Keep had those in abundance. Perhaps we could breed some nugs there, to help the dwarves feel at home. "But we do have pigs. They're sort of like big nugs that can be roasted too. I'll make sure some deliveries include fresh food."

A voice from the doorway interrupted. "Better make sure it doesn't include ale barrels, or the wagon would never arrive, right Oghren?"

Oghren growled, deep in his throat. "Poo-tin, I always said that mouth of yours was going to get you into trouble one day. May as well make it today." He hefted his axe.

Bhelen's cousin narrowed his eyes, but gripped his own axe tightly. "Any time, _surfacer_."

* * *

><p>Velanna rubbed her forehead, a perplexed expression on her face. "How <em>exactly<em> did we get into this?" she asked.

We sat on hard stone slabs arrayed around a relatively flat, clear area. Dwarves packed the makeshift stands, and the cacophony of excited conversations almost drowned out her question.

Sigrun giggled as she bounced on the stone slab between us. "Oh come on! I never got to sit in the Proving stands back in Orzammar. I've always wanted to watch one, and this is just like the real thing!"

Velanna looked at her as though she'd grown a third arm. "What are you talking about?" she demanded in a shrill voice.

I sighed. "Provings are, well, a sort of competition. Formalised battles – one on one, or pairs, quartets, or even mass free-for-alls."

She frowned. "Yes, I inferred that from Oghren's ravings. What is so exciting about them?" she demanded, waving her arm around at the excited crowd. "We are sitting on uncomfortable stone waiting for two dwarves to try and kill each other. What is the point?"

Sigrun looked up at her in disbelief. "They are the most exciting things _ever_! We only heard about them in Dust Town, of course. But even there we had our favourites as kids. Some of the old timers had stories of bouts fought long ago."

Velanna still looked confused, so I tried explaining. "The Dalish revere talent at archery, right?"

"Revere? No. We revere magical ability, but not skill at archery. We do greatly admire and respect it though. Children are all taught the art from a young age. Prodigies are identified and encouraged."

I nodded. "So, what if every so often, all the clans got together and had a competition to see who the best archer was. And the winner won accolades; fame, marriage proposals, respect, that sort of thing."

Velanna touched her chin, considering the idea. "Such a competition may well be entertaining, perhaps even a worthwhile endeavour. But the winner would not demand such frivolities."

Sigrun sighed, but let me continue explaining. "Well, the dwarves have a different system. Where the Dalish live as a community, all working together, the dwarves live in a highly structured society, where you are born into your role. You can succeed or fail with that role on your merits, but generally, you can't move out of the caste you were born to."

"If I had a chance to fight in a Proving, I would have jumped at it!" Sigrun declared. She grinned at me. "A duster was in the ring a couple of years ago, you know. She even won, believe it or not," she said, with her chin lifted proudly.

I looked over to her. "I've seen you fight, so I don't doubt that a duster could win, but how did she compete? The Proving Master I met wouldn't let a casteless dwarf anywhere near the place."

Sigrun shrugged. "Scuttlebutt says that she worked for one of Jarvia's heavies. One who was into rigging Provings, so I suppose she got into the ring that way. She had to wear a full helmet and a man's armour, and she still stomped all comers into the stone."

Velanna seemed to be following, but suddenly frowned. "Rigging?"

"Fixing it so you know who's going to win."

She blinked. "For what purpose?"

"Betting, usually," I replied. "Sometimes it's to embarrass someone, or change the odds of later bouts."

Her mouth dropped open. "People wager on who will win a death match? Why would- wait!" She spun and wagged her finger in my face with intense disapproval. "Is that what you've been doing? With all those dwarves over there? Taking bets on this fight?"

I nodded happily. "Yup."

Sigrun looked impressed. "You bet on Oghren, didn't you? That he'd beat Piotin?"

I nodded again. "Yup."

The duster smirked. "I don't think any of them know how well Oghren fights, do they?"

"Not a clue," I agreed happily.

"Do you think I have time to make a few bets myself?" she asked, hope filling her tone.

I shook my head. "The fight will start soon. You don't want to lose your seat or miss it."

She slumped. "I suppose not."

Velanna looked at us as though we were insane. Or, from her point of view, insane-er. She apparently decided not to continue on with the current line of conversation and went back to what she thought was a safer topic. "What happened to the casteless dwarf you mentioned? The one who won the Proving?"

Sigrun's expression barely moved, but I could tell she was hiding some sadness. "She got found out; unmasked right on the Proving ground after winning. She disappeared, and was probably killed for embarrassing all those warrior-caste."

Velanna looked horrified. She looked around the makeshift arena at the excited crowd and back again. "Someone talented enough to win one of your Provings was killed just because she had no caste?"

With a shrug, Sigrun replied, "Yep." The casual acceptance chilled me. I understood discrimination all too well. But at least my imprisonment was for a reason. A poor reason, but it was there. There was no reason whatsoever for the casteless dwarves of Dust Town to be treated as they were.

The crowd of dwarves sitting around us leapt to their feet as one and let out a roar of approval. A grey-bearded dwarf stepped into the middle of the small ring and announced the fight, embellishing for all he was worth. Apparently, it was to be a long-awaited rematch between the two greatest warriors of their generation.

Velanna looked around the crowd, surprised at the announcement and reaction. "Oghren is this revered among the dwarves?"

I sighed. "No. Piotin is, but Oghren is sort of an embarrassment."

Before she could ask further, a voice intruded on our conversation. "There you are, Warden!"

I looked over my shoulder, surprised. "Felsi? What are you doing here?"

The feisty, heavily-pregnant dwarf shoved a larger dwarf out of her way and sat down on the stone bench behind me. "Oghren wouldn't own up to his responsibilities," she snapped, cradling her belly, "so I had to go back to the inn at Lake Calenhad, didn't I? I ran into this lot on the way back, and I jumped at the chance to finally work for someone who appreciates me. Do you want to tell me what you think you're doing, letting Oghren fight Piotin?"

Rather than answer, I decided introductions were in order. "Felsi, this is Warden Sigrun and Warden Velanna. Wardens, this is Felsi, Oghren's wife."

That pronouncement surprised both of them. Felsi didn't even glance in their direction. "Well? He's going to get slaughtered!"

"You don't think he can hold his own against Piotin?" I asked, eyebrows raised.

Felsi rolled her eyes. "Piotin hasn't lost a Proving since he and Oghren were boys. Oh, I'd bet on the ale-addled sod against almost anyone else, but Piotin is the best warrior in Orzammar. And you're going to let him kill my husband!"

I narrowed my eyes at her. "I'm not going to 'let' him do anything of the sort. This isn't Warden business. I'm not going to stop Oghren doing something he desperately wants to do."

She almost snarled at me. "I guess you just don't care about one more widow, Warden. Fine." She rose to her feet. "Well, I'm not going to watch him die. I'll just-"

I grabbed her hand. "Sit down. Just watch. You might be surprised."

She tried pulling away. "No! I don't want to see-"

The roar of the crowd interrupted her, and the two warriors strode into the makeshift Proving Ground from opposite ends. Neither combatant spared the crowd a glance; their attention completely focused on the other. Piotin's armour gleamed with the shine that was the result of diligent hours of polishing. Oghren's armour in contrast was dull and matt, speckled in dried blood, gore and dirt.

The crowd pressed forward, and Felsi had no choice but to stay. She stepped over the bench with an ungainly wobble and plonked herself down next to me. "By my ancestors, I hope you're right, Warden."

I didn't get to respond before the impromptu Proving Master called out, starting the match. Piotin roared a challenge and charged, axe raised to strike. Oghren bent his legs slightly and wound back, his own axe held ready. The two struck out simultaneously.

I'd never seen a real duel between two berserkers wielding two-handed axes. Oh, Oghren had taken down warriors who wielded such weapons before, but that had usually been in the context of a free-for-all brawl with allies on both sides. This was a savage display of both skill and power; in a setting as close to being perfectly fair as possible.

Axe blade struck and bit through armour plates. Blood spurted out through rents in metal and flesh. Both dwarves bellowed their rage in spittle-laced roars, hacking at the other in mindless fury. Sprays of blood spattered over the front rows of the crowd, which seemed to drive those painted into even greater heights of excitement.

Piotin, always composed and rational in conversation, appeared to fully retreat into a berserk rage, attacking with axe, fist, foot, forehead and teeth. More than once, Felsi flinched and gripped my hand tighter.

Oghren however, seemed to retain some semblance of thought. He occasionally paused in his attacks, to get a better shot. He would accept a hit and use the momentum to turn him around, adding power to his spinning horizontal swipes. Twice Piotin unexpectedly found himself sprawled on the stone floor, leaving smeared crimson trails on the rock. The crowd found this series of events shocking, given their collective gasps.

Broken bones did little to slow either combatant. An overhand smash from Piotin struck Oghren in the shoulder, obviously breaking his left collarbone. He still hefted his axe with strength and skill – the only outward indication of the injury were the lopsided shoulder plates of his armour.

Piotin's foot was almost severed by the edge of Oghren's weapon. He fought on oblivious, dragging the ruined extremity. A primal roar followed.

Oghren's nose got flattened, leaving blood flowing freely down his beard plaits.

Half of Piotin's teeth spun and skipped across the ring, courtesy of the back of Oghren's armoured fist. An enterprising casteless dwarf dove to the ground, scooping them up.

A quarter of the wounds either of the battling pair sustained would have signaled the end for just about any other warrior I knew. But the more injuries they received, the harder they swung.

Velanna gasped as Oghren was struck a devastating blow to his side, almost leaping to her feet. She began weaving a spell, but I leapt over Sigrun's lap and grabbed her hands, forcing her back to the seat. "No!"

"But that injury could be fatal!" she wailed over the roar of the crowd.

"He's fine!" I snapped. "Do not interfere!"

Indeed, despite the apparent mortal wound, Oghren just clamped his left arm over Piotin's axe, holding it steady in the deep wound in his body. He adjusted his balance and kicked the dwarf noble hard in the guts. Piotin fell backwards, the blood-stained handle slipping from his grasp.

Oghren wound up his own axe, swinging it in a wide arc one handed, before bringing it up and under, striking out at Piotin's head from below. The flat of the blade struck square on, shattering the dwarf's chin and snapping his head back.

Piotin Aeducan, the pride of Orzammar, collapsed in a senseless heap.

As one, the crowd stood and screamed their approval, probably scaring every animal for miles around. Oghren casually pulled his opponent's magnificent axe from his armour and discarded it with a negligent toss. Blood ran down his armour unimpeded. He raised his arms – the right arm much higher than the left – and roared back at the crowd. That seemed to please them very much indeed, if the increase in noise was any indication.

Even heavily wounded and dripping blood, Oghren still looked every inch the victorious warrior. He grabbed Piotin's left foot in his right hand and deliberately dragged the insensate dwarf around the ring. Despite having lost a lot of money, the dwarves in the crowd enjoyed a good, entertaining spectacle. They laughed and jeered and cheered as they watched the pride of Orzammar literally used to wipe the floor. I suspected that it would be a story they would happily tell their grandchildren over and over again.

I turned to Felsi, a quip on my lips about her lack of faith. It died unsaid. She wasn't paying me any attention. The tiny mother-to-be just stared at her husband; her bottom lip caught between her teeth, her cheeks flushed red and her breathing rapid.

I glanced over at my Wardens. Velanna's expression was simply relieved, but Sigrun looked to be in a similar state to Felsi, if less obvious. She broke her gaze from Oghren and glanced at Felsi. She recognised her expression just as quickly and I had, and gave a small sigh.

I suppose that given their martial history and traditions, a dwarf who was nigh on invincible in a one-on-one contest would be very attractive. Perhaps that explained his belief that he was irresistible to women.

* * *

><p>"Thank you for managing to leave him alive," I said, slapping Oghren on the shoulder.<p>

He winced. "Yeah, nae bother, Kat," he grunted, gingerly moving his shoulder away from my hand. "Nae bother at all. It's better this way, now that I think about it."

Velanna glared at me as her glowing hands traced over Oghren. "What do you mean, better?" she demanded of her patient.

He gave her an evil grin. "Ol' Poo-tin gets to walk around knowing that I beat him – and in front of people who all saw me beat him. Result, I say."

"Indeed," I agreed, nodded amiably to another dwarf who passed me some coins and grumbled some congratulations to Oghren before wandering off. "I think the reputation of the Grey Wardens has just gone up a couple of notches. Well done."

He almost glowed under my praise. "Aw, thanks, Kat. What's with all them buggers giving you money?"

"Oh, nothing," I said.

Sigrun bounced on her feet. "Nothing? You stood up and announced that you'd take any bet against Oghren!"

"Say what?" he blurted, sitting up suddenly. His eyes lost focus and he groaned briefly.

"Oghren!" Velanna snapped. "Lie still!"

He grumbled a bit, but complied. "You bet _against_ Piotin?" he said, once he was comfortable again.

"Of course. Why wouldn't I?" I said easily, though I did note the sudden lack of self-confidence.

He opened his mouth, then closed it. Sigrun giggled. "Well done, Kathryn. He's speechless. You've broken him."

"Well, let's see how much more we can break him, eh?"

He groaned. "Sodding women, ganging up on me.

I snickered. "Well, get used to it. We're bringing home another one."

He looked at me curiously. "Eh? You find another recruit?"

Sigrun snorted her amusement, and even Velanna cracked a small smile. "Nope. We ran into someone. She's coming back to the Vigil with us."

He blinked owlishly at me, still not comprehending. "Who?"

"Felsi."

He grimaced. "Ah, _sandstone_!"

* * *

><p>We stayed for a full day, helping the dwarves settle. Sigrun helped scout out and disarm a few remaining ancient traps. But, as a Grey Warden, she discovered a level of respect from her fellow dwarves she never in her wildest dreams expected – even Piotin Aeducan bowed to her; once I'd got him back on his feet.<p>

I had healed the warrior myself, figuring that he was more interested in getting back on his feet than not having scars. I did what I could, but it would still be a couple of weeks before he would be at his best. Far better than the six months the dwarves first expected.

Velanna preferred to stay topside, out of the rift. I couldn't blame her. But she made herself useful, teaching the dwarves stationed up there the rudiments of woodcraft.

I helped clear Kal'Hirol of the tainted muck that still coated the walls. Using fire would simply fill the fortress with deadly smoke, but it could be frozen solid. A sharp blow would then shatter huge chunks of the awful stuff off the walls easily.

Oghren spent the time overseeing his armour being patched back to marginal functionality and basking in the glory of victory. It was a vindication of sorts, I guess, given the way he was treated in Orzammar before we met. Despite the ungraciousness of some dwarves who'd lost quite a bit of coin, everyone expressed admiration for his sheer constitution.

Felsi used the time to organise herself. With a small portion of my winnings, we purchased a pair of wagons and supplies, enabling her to travel in relative comfort. Perhaps not surprisingly, Velanna had extensive experience with travelling mothers-to-be, and expressed confidence that the short trip to the Vigil would not be arduous for Felsi.

We didn't leave alone either. Several dwarves offered to join the Wardens; Oghren's savage display of skill undoubtedly the best advertising I could hope for. Still, it was a tight line to walk – many of those skilled enough to pique my interest were invariably necessary to the viability of the resettlement effort. Given the potential political storm that could erupt from me poaching the irreplaceable, I worked with Madison to explain why we were not accepting those whose skills could not be spared.

The three who measured up were a pair of casteless siblings, Drake and his sister Hape, and Bhenson, a mason's son who longed to leave his assigned station in life. So much so that he had been confined to a makeshift prison in the fortress for the results of an argument he had with his father. One that left four dwarves with severe concussions.

So, with a small list of necessities and longer list of nice-to-haves, we set off back east. Morale was high, but brittle, as we had no way of knowing what we would find.

Hours before the Vigil was in sight, we saw the smoke plume. It rose gently into the sky, the upper cloud trailing off to the south with the wind. Sigrun expressed some dismay, but Oghren reminded her that the best way of getting rid of an army of darkspawn corpses would be to burn them.

It was a nicer explanation to the other possibility.

The next few hours were a trial. Everyone was on edge. But, as we approached close enough that Velanna and I could make out the walls, our fears evaporated. There were armoured guards patrolling around the top of them.

The stink of burning darkspawn filled the air and coated our tongues as we drew close to the Keep. Regular piles of charred and smoking corpses indicated a concerted effort to dispose of a truly staggering number of tainted monsters.

We drew closer. Shouts went up as we were identified, and we could hear cheers and whistles from atop of and from behind the walls. The gates opened, and a mass of people charged out.

Leading them was Seranni, her face alight with joy at seeing her sister alive. The elf sprinted out along the main path, straight at the wagons. Velanna leapt down and ran towards the Keep, meeting her sister in a relieved embrace.

"You're alive," they shrieked in unison.

I couldn't help but smile at the scene. Moments later, several people surrounded the wagons, cheering and congratulating us on our survival. I nodded, and answered what questions I could, but it took Oghren barking an order to clear a path for his pregnant wife for the crowd to step back. I handed him the reins and jumped down, heading for the Keep ahead of the rest.

Anders sauntered out of the main gate as I approached. He nodded and tossed me a lazy salute in greeting. "Commander. Nice to see you. Not sure if you noticed, but you missed a bit of excitement."

"So I heard," I retorted. "Can you do me a favour and organise for someone to take care of these wagons. We've got a pregnant dwarf in one and a few recruits in the other."

He looked surprised. "You brought home more Wardens that you left with? Damn." There was a rustling in his hood, and Ser Pounce's head popped up. The bloody thing hissed at me.

I snarled at it. "I see you're still carrying around my future hat."

He sighed theatrically. "I suppose it's too much to ask that all my friends get along, isn't it?"

* * *

><p>With so few Wardens, it made sense to have the debrief somewhere a little more comfortable than the main hall. Vigil's Keep had a couple of smaller rooms outfitted for comfortable evening conversations. One room had various hunting trophies lining the walls, several armchairs and long padded seats, and a massive fireplace. It was a tolerable environment for a small group of people sit and talk amongst themselves.<p>

Other than my three new recruits, there were two more newly-Joined Grey Wardens in the room. During the siege, several of the defenders were invariably tainted. As competent and skilled as the Wardens I'd left at the Keep were, they were still only weeks into their Grey Warden 'career'. As such, Nathaniel, Anders and Seranni did not yet have the ability to accurately sense nearby darkspawn, let alone identify the faint corruption in their allies around them.

Of the thirteen people who presented with the taint during and after the siege, six chose to take their own lives without telling anyone of their misfortune. It was an unfortunate, yet a direct consequence of our secrecy. While I had no personal objection, Nathaniel felt that it should not become common knowledge that joining the Wardens 'cured' the taint. He feared that we would be inundated with supplicants who may or may not be tainted, and who would not have the skills to be effective Grey Wardens.

Of the remaining tainted defenders, two turned into ghouls quickly, and had to be executed. Of the last five, three did not survive the Joining. It seemed surprising to Anders, but those who succumbed to the Joining Potion were all burly, seasoned warriors. The two who lived were not.

One was an elf formally of the kitchen staff. Benjamin had been ferrying water and medical supplies to the front line defenders when one of the few wall breaches had taken place right on top of him. He had fought darkspawn alongside armoured guards – while wearing only an apron and swinging a water pail. Reports were that he had brained a pair of genlocks before being cut down. Anders had revived him after the darkspawn had been beaten back, but he had already been corrupted by then.

The other was an archer from Highever named Briannah. A scion of a noble family without land to their name, she had come north after the Blight with an offer to join Fergus Cousland's service. She had stopped at the Vigil overnight on her trip, and had offered to join the garrison here, seeing the small number of servicemen as a faster track to promotion. Nathaniel described her as ambitious, but diligent.

Now, the three recruits and two junior Wardens sat together in one half of the room; part of our company, yet still newcomers. Briannah sat ramrod straight, as though at attention, giving me vague sensation of déjà vu. I hoped she would turn out better than Mhairi. Benjamin was unassuming, trying to be as small as possible. Drake and Hape sat together on one of the loveseats, their nervous, branded faces revealing that they were unsure what was expected of them. Bhenson sat apart from even the newcomers; leaning against the far wall.

There were non-Wardens present too. Woolsey, Garevel and Varel were all present. The bean-counting harridan even had a sheaf of papers for me to sign. She could wait.

A pair of servants wafted amongst us, distributing food, collecting plates, wiping away crumbs and refilling drinks. Some of the newcomers were unused to the concept of service; at least from the receiving end. Their reactions were somewhat entertaining. But the food was gratefully accepted, wine and ale enthusiastically drunk.

Nathaniel sank back into an armchair, the soft leather offering a drawn-out fart. He winced at Oghren's lewd chuckle. "Maker, I'm tired. I suppose I should start with just after you left."

I smiled at him. In his fatigue, he was far less composed than usual. "Take your time."

He took a sip of his wine and sighed. "You'd barely stepped outside the main gate before the demands started. More than one noble in the Keep insisted that I assume formal control and declare myself arl."

I blinked. "Seriously? An army was marching on the City of Amaranthine, and they were more interested in staging a coup?"

Varel shook his head. "Not a coup as such, Commander. I don't think the nobles in the Keep thought you would survive, so they all wanted to be as close as possible to the new arl. Had a formal declaration been drafted, they would have counter-signed it. With the arling in disarray, a lot of families were looking to annexing territory adjacent to their lands."

Velanna smirked at me. "How charming. And you rule these people?"

"It wasn't my idea," I snapped back at her. In the back of my mind however, I could picture a very amused Alistair Therin cross his arms and say, _'you were the only candidate'_.

Nate shrugged. "I declined, of course. I knew you'd be coming back."

Anders laughed out loud, stroking his demon-spawn cat. "And didn't they hate you for saying so."

My second gave Anders a dark look. "Indeed. Fortunately, the argument only lasted a couple of hours. Word arrived of a second darkspawn army approaching the Vigil. The prospect of imminent death focused the attention of the various agitators quite satisfactorily."

"I'll bet," Oghren offered.

I grabbed another pie from a passing servant. "We heard about the army marching on the Vigil _after_ we got to the city. We killed some darkspawn there, including one of the armoured ogres you've got out front, and found that the 'spawn were already inside the walls. They'd used the smugglers' tunnels."

Garevel blanched. "They were inside the city already? Before you got there?"

Sigrun nodded. "It wasn't an army exactly, but there were lots of them. We think the army split before it got to Amaranthine."

Nate put his wine glass down and steepled his fingers in thought. "You stayed to evict them, I take it? Surely there would have been those who suggested returning here to face the main force?"

I nodded, deliberately leaving my face blank. "Yes, but I had faith in you, in the walls Voldrik built, in Wade's equipment and in the forces left. We were the only chance the people in Amaranthine had."

Varel leaned forward. "There were people still alive?"

I nodded. "Yes. Most of them, in fact. A lot fled to the Chantry when the alarm sounded. We probably only arrived a couple of hours after the darkspawn at most. I estimate that a good half of the city survived. Probably more, once all the refugees return."

You could almost see the stress leave Nate's body, the way he relaxed into the chair. "That is very good news. Thank you. And for what it's worth, I'm sure all my ancestors would want to thank you as well for saving that city."

To a backdrop of Seranni's and Velanna's undisguised scoffs, I poked my tongue out at him. "Human nobles? Thank an elf? Really?"

He actually smiled. A full on, show-your-teeth, smile. "Absolutely. Every one of them would have been terrified of you. But even had they been more haughty than frightened, they would at least be _thankful_."

I hummed an agreement. "Yes well, after we slaughtered the bastards in the city, we found out from one of those talking darkspawn where the Mother was located. So off we went to kill her."

Nathaniel snapped his head around to the arling map on the wall. "Where?"

"The Dragonbone Wastes," I supplied.

Sigrun clapped her hands together. "We killed a dragon! It was guarding the ruined castle there. And Kathryn said that I get to put the skull in my room!"

To their credit, no one tried to dissuade her, or even mock her. "How to you intend to get a dragon's skull through the door to your room?" Anders asked with a superior smirk.

Sigrun's mouth opened, and then closed with an audible snap. "Aw, bugger." She turned her head around to face me. "Did you know that I wouldn't be able to get it in?"

I hadn't considered it, honestly. "Voldrik might know a way. Or we can haul it up the side of the keep and rebuild your room's outer wall after it's inside."

The logistical challenges were swept away at her smile. It was so broad, had she been outside, her molars would have been in danger of sunburn.

Anders leaned forward, to Ser Pounce's annoyance. "You killed the Mother then?"

We nodded. "And the Architect too. A sort of two-for-one bonus."

His eyes bulged. "What?! But he's at least as powerful as one of the Magisters of old!"

I frowned at Anders' use of the male pronoun. Since when do darkspawn have genders?

Oghren laughed nastily. "Don't matter. Darkspawn, Magister or whatever, a chunk of metal through the head fixes anything." He jerked a thumb towards Sigrun. "This little spitfire shoved her sword through the bastard's brain, just like she did to the dragon outside. Don't get her angry."

Praise from someone of Oghren's ability pleased our little duster.

Velanna crossed her arms and glared at me. "Do not omit your own recklessness, Kathryn!"

I sighed. "Fine. Anders, important safety tip. Twenty-two of those new lyrium potions are somewhat beyond the safe, maximum daily dose. It's into 'glowing piss' territory."

He looked at me blankly for a second before an expression of horror appeared. "You idiot!" he exploded.

"Anders!" Nathaniel snapped.

I held up a hand. "He's right, Nate. It was reckless of me. But, in my defense, it was necessary. The Architect was incredibly powerful, and it took all that lyrium to keep me going long enough for Sigrun to put him down."

We described the fight with the Architect, trying to impress upon them just how harrowing and dangerous the battle had been. The subsequent fight with the Mother was anti-climactic in comparison.

Nathaniel sighed and sipped at his wine when our tale finished. "That was… impressive."

Garevel offered his agreement. "Events here were a little more prosaic. The darkspawn army arrived perhaps half a day after you left. We expected that they would simply charge the walls until we'd killed them all. But they were being directed by someone with a passing level of tactical ability."

"The walls held then," I said unnecessarily. "Even though Voldrik hadn't finished upgrading them completely?"

He nodded. "Mostly. It will take months for them to be finished to his satisfaction, but the improvements he made in just a few weeks were nothing short of life-saving. Some darkspawn breeched the walls at weak points in the defenses, but we were up to the task of keeping them back."

Seranni grimaced. "Justice died."

I sighed, feeling an odd combination of relief and loss. In my peripheral vision, I saw Anders' expression change. Not surprising. He had lost a friend.

The Dalish scout continued. "He singlehandedly held back a dozen or more darkspawn while I picked them off." She drew a deep breath. "It was two days into the siege. Without his need for rest, Justice was able to maintain a constant watch on the flow of battle, and order people to shore up weakening defenses. But we were so stretched and exhausted by the end of the second day that he went himself. He fell, but only after we managed to rally enough soldiers to force the darkspawn back through the breach."

"Even after two days of solid fighting? That is very impressive."

Anders reached around and patted his pet demon. "Ser Pounce here is a hero. A hurlock tried attacking me from behind, but he just about clawed its face off. A true Grey Warden feline."

I leaned back in my chair, shuddering at the thought. Time to change the topic. "What of Kristoff's remains?"

"They were cremated separately," Anders replied, still patting Ser Pounce. "I collected the ashes and put them in a box for his wife. Do you know if she made it back to Amaranthine and survived?"

"Aye," Oghren said, before taking a long swallow. "She was holed up and praying in the temple."

"Well, hopefully his mortal remains will give her some closure," Anders said, with commendable diplomacy.

"When did the siege finally break?" I asked, trying to get away from the uncomfortable topic.

"Yesterday afternoon," Garevel replied. "I have ordered the soldiers to use your methods to dispose of the corpses. But we are running short of fuel. Ser Anders has been very helpful in igniting the piles, but it has been slow going. There are just too many."

"A firestorm or two will fix them," I said.

Anders and Velanna both rolled their eyes. "_A firestorm or two_, she says," Anders muttered. "I can't create a firestorm."

"Not everyone has your talent with fire, Kathryn," the Dalish mage pointed out.

Nathaniel took a refill. "So, what are the plans now?"

I scratched at my chin. "On the darkspawn front, I want them cleared from the arling; above and below. Some of you will be scouting the lands, others will map the Deep Roads below. I'm hoping we can find a path between the Vigil and Kal'Hirol."

Immediately, Drake and Hape raised their hands. "Ah, we can help ya there, Lady!"

Sigrun sighed. "If you're going to be Grey Wardens, use her rank. Call her Commander."

"Oh, right," Hape mumbled. "Sorry."

I smiled. "Don't worry, I'm not offended. And you're right, I will use you as your strengths dictate."

Bhenson audibly groaned. "I didn't join the Wardens just to be a bloody mason. I want to fight!"

I raised an eyebrow. "All of you will fight. I didn't recruit you because you're a mason's son. If I want masons, I'll hire them. I need people who can kill darkspawn."

He seemed mollified. "Aye. All right then."

Woolsey cleared her throat. "That is all well and good, Commander, but there are other priorities besides the darkspawn."

I stifled a groan of my own. "Very true. With the dwarves' arrival at Kal'Hirol, there's going to be a lot of merchants travelling around. I negotiated with Madison for help patrolling the nearby area, which should relieve the strain on our soldiers. As Darren mentioned, our focus there needs to be on upgrading the road infrastructure."

That seemed to satisfy her. Varel leaned forward. "Do you have any specific assignments, Commander?"

I nodded. "Let's get our new recruits Joined. Velanna, can you please organise that? Anders, keep your focus on the Architect's notes. We need to learn what we can from them in case any more like him appear. Oghren and Sigrun, I want you to plan out what you need for an exploration of the Deep Roads linking to the Vigil. Nate and Seranni, likewise, but for the surface. I will deal with the politics."

More than a few chuckles met that last sentence.

Bastards. All of them.

o_ooo000ooo_o

AN: Thanks to my reviewers – MB18932, Hydroplatypus, Pintsizedpsycho, Nightbrainzz, Obsidian85, Arsinoe de Blassenville, Revan Vakarian and Alifangirl21.

Sorry for the delay, my contract at work has been terminated, so I've been looking for a new role.

I've always wondered exactly why Oghren, with his attitude, ever landed a brilliant girl (his words) like Branka. Given that the Provings are essentially the dwarven version of professional sports, I don't think it's too much of a stretch to see him as a martial prodigy fallen low – like a rock star who still expects to be treated as such, relying on past glories.


	21. Teaching Crows to eat crow

disclaimer type=standard

Anything you recognise is Bioware's. I daresay anything else belongs to them too.

/disclaimer

o_ooo000ooo_o

"And so with Amaranthine pacified, you began building the Ferelden Grey Wardens into the force they are today."

"Yep. I'm quite proud of them."

Cassandra filed that away. "What happened after you returned?"

"The next few weeks were a bit rocky. Drake and Hape survived the Joining, but Bhenson didn't. Two more soldiers died because of the taint. We spotted both in time, but neither survived their Joining. Oghren's team mapped a path to Kal'Hirol underground. Anders finished his research and sent copies to the Circle and the other Wardens." She sighed. "And then we lost Anders, but our numbers began swelling quite satisfactorily."

Cassandra paused. "You mentioned that Anders left due to a mistake on your part. A compound mistake, I believe your words were. What happened?"

A wicked smile lit up the Warden's features. "I'm so glad you asked," she said.

o_ooo000ooo_o

Velanna became everyone's friend the next day. The waspish mage's control of nature magic was incredible, and she created and maintained a steady breeze flowing across the Vigil. It meant that she was obliged to sit in one spot and concentrate, but the gentle airflow took the greasy soot and ash from the darkspawn pyres away from the Keep. Just having clean air to breathe improved morale out of sight.

The steady stream of gratitude both surprised and pleased her, or at least softened her disposition a little. As a Grey Warden she was afforded respect from all - human, dwarf and elf. She was still a shrill-voiced harpy when confronted with stupidity, but that was not something I could bemoan. I turned into a sarcastic monster when confronted with the same.

We gave Bhenson to the stone in the Deep Roads, and the other two failed Joinings to the flames. I had been extremely lucky to date with my recruiting. But being lucky and still having to lay to rest a significant fraction of your recruits was soul-sapping. I really needed to send someone to Soldier's Peak soon to see what my two pet maleficars had worked out from the flowers I sent. Given the way my mages reacted to blood magic, I'd probably have to go myself.

Outside the Keep, I personally directed elemental fire and quickly reduced darkspawn corpses to ash. My spell-work drew a crowd of gawkers, including just about every child within a couple of miles. The crowd scattered the instant the first firestorm erupted, but repetition bred complacency. By the end of the first day I had an audience numbering close to fifty.

Many of the children tried mimicking the command words and gestures in the hope of calling down heavenly fire upon their irritating, younger (or overbearing, older) siblings. It didn't work of course, but shrieks of fright became shrieks of laughter as the day wore on. In the days following, the universal childhood games of chase and tag morphed to include verbal booms, crackles and whooshes of pretend magic. It was a sight that caused many a blanched face and hushed admonishing among the peasantry, but given that their lord was a mage; their tongues were held in public.

It helped that Anders was such a handsome, charming specimen of a mage. Many mothers were aghast at their children's antics until he wandered past, laughing uproarishly at their games, dispensing encouragement and boiled sweets. His roguish looks and cheeky grins endeared him to the worried womenfolk of the Keep.

He finalised documenting his findings on the Architect's abilities. Just in time too, as a messenger from Denerim arrived that evening bearing some royal correspondence. He planned to continue on his way to Highever, with some items for Fergus. He readily agreed to take Anders' notes to the Circle in return for a comfortable night in the Vigil rather than a wayside inn. He departed the next day, fortified and refreshed, with a bit of magical rejuvenation thrown in.

Oghren found domestic bliss with a pregnant female a little too blissful, and volunteered to lead the group mapping an underground path to Kal'Hirol. He took Briannah, Drake and Hape with him, comfortable that he could keep the junior Wardens safe in the relatively clear section of the Deep Roads. We could not spare a healer for them, so they left well stocked with healing salves.

Sigrun left in the same direction, but overland. She, Seranni, Falon'fen, and Anders rolled away to the west in a trio of wagons laden with items for Kal'Hirol, as well as materials and tools for tanning and stripping a draconic corpse. They planned to harvest the recently slain dragon of materials, and survey the Dragonbone Wastes for usable (and extractable) dragonbone. If she didn't manage to bring back the whole dragon skull, I'd be very surprised.

I handed Benjamin over to Garevel and his sergeants for basic training in weaponry of the non-bucket variety. The lad had apparently grown up serving, going by the trouble he had speaking above a whisper to a human. He told me that he managed to evade Howe's purge of all the elves in Amaranthine by joining the legions of army support staff. Garevel reported the young Grey Warden as very even-tempered, but his slight frame precluded him from wielding heavier weapons. He was very quick and nimble with small blades, and after testing his skills I suspected that he had a lot more previous experience with them than was strictly legal for a city elf.

Velanna continued to study Shapeshifting and Arcane Warrior spellcraft. She accepted my tutoring with good grace, happy to be a part of reviving the ancient elven magic. Her disdain for armour had faded following the battle with the Architect, and vanished completely when Wade presented her with a set of light leathers fashioned from the archdemon's remains.

Most of the rest of my time was spent with Nathaniel, as he continued my education into the art of statecraft. It was a subject that would take a lifetime of learning. More and more, I felt that Nate was the future of both Amaranthine and the Ferelden Grey Wardens.

A few days after the end of the siege, a lone figure carefully picked his way past the ash piles dotting the landscape. He presented his credentials at the gate, and was then escorted to me.

Velanna and I were in the middle of stabilising her spell shield when a grinning ex-Antivan Crow entered the room. "Another delectable conscript, my sweet? Perhaps I was too hasty in declaring that the Wardens were not the place for me?"

I sighed as Velanna's countenance went from merely stiff to mid-winter-frosty in less than a heartbeat. "Zev, this is Velanna, one of my Wardens. Velanna, this is Zevran, an old companion of mine."

"Old? Ah, but you know how to hurt a man, light of my life."

I stuck my tongue out at him. "Fine. A _former_ companion. If you get the opportunity, feel free to let him give you a massage. They're almost as good as he claims." Zevran preened. With a wicked grin, I continued. "Feel free to eviscerate him if he tries anything else. I can help you hide the body."

Velanna, whose features bore a silent (and eloquent) expression of revulsion at the thought of getting a massage from the lecherous elf, actually appeared to give the idea some thought.

Zevran waggled a finger at me. "You, my dear, are a cruel, cruel woman."

I stepped over and embraced him with a smile. "It's good to see you, Zev. Did you enjoy your trip to the Circle?"

He returned my hug, his hands lingering on my posterior only briefly. "Ah yes, the Circle. I suppose you would not have heard the major political news. Several weeks ago, Knight-Commander Tavish had a terrible accident."

"You don't say?"

He gave me an artful expression of mourning, one hand on his heart. "Indeed. The poor man fell down one of the many, many staircases late one evening. His neck broke. Such is an occupational hazard when one habitually wears top-heavy armour and lives in a tower."

"What a tragedy," I agreed with a straight face.

Velanna glanced between us, suspicion evident in her expression. "I am missing some context," she declared with a pout. "You are not exhibiting the level of sorrow your words suggest."

I turned to her. "Tavish is… that is, _was_, rabidly anti-mage. After a group of a dozen mages helped the Grey Wardens kill the archdemon, the king and queen tried to reform the Circle, to give the mages locked up there more control of their destiny."

The Dalish mage sniffed with disdain. "Your religion does not value magical talent as it should."

I inclined my head. "Quite so. Well, Greagoir was in charge when the Circle agreed to the reforms proposed by the crown. He was forcibly retired, and Tavish was appointed Knight-Commander of the Circle in his place. Tavish immediately renounced the reforms."

Velanna glanced suspiciously at me. "How convenient it was for this templar to suffer a fatal accident so soon after defying your king. Do you suppose he had Tavish assassinated?"

Zevran raised an eyebrow at me.

I sighed. "She's not yet been corrupted by exposure to the depravity of proper civilisation," I apologised to him. "Velanna, Zevran was trained by the Antivan Crows." At her blank expression, I explained further. "Those assassins who tried to kill me a couple of weeks ago? Remember?"

Her jaw fell. "He killed Tavish?!" she blurted.

Zevran exploded at the same time with, "What?!"

I gave Zevran an appraising look. "We'll discuss it later but in short, a half dozen Crows tried killing me. Right here in the Keep; in the main hall no less. They were supporting a group of nobles who were still loyal to Rendon Howe. Now, back to Tavish. I can't imagine that your former profession is unknown. Any suspicious death at the Circle while you were there would have resulted in your arrest."

Despite his curiosity at my heavily truncated description, he shook his head and gave a nonchalant shrug. "But of course. The body had barely rolled to a stop before one of the templars barged in to arrest me."

I felt a shiver run down my spine at the thought. "I take it you had an alibi then?"

Zev spread his hands and gave me a mock bow. "Ah, my lovely bella donna; your faith in me is humbling. At the moment of his death I was in a meeting with the First Enchanter, Alistair's negotiator Larkworthy, the quartermaster of Kinloch Hold and Tavish's two Knight-Captains. Each vouched for my whereabouts. A few did so begrudgingly, it's true, but they did so nonetheless."

I gave a soft whistle. "That's a more than reasonable cast," I said. "How long until they finally gave up and admitted they had no clue as to how you managed to kill Tavish?"

He chuckled. "I did spend a few days in a cell while they argued. A few of the more intellectually challenged among the templars invented quite a fantastical tale of my prowess to explain the conundrum. One fellow in particular had given me powers of invisibility and wing-less flight in order to commit heinous murder."

Velanna looked confused. "How did you kill this Tavish if you were meeting with others at the time?" she asked, apparently not particularly bothered by the casual assassination of a shemlen knight.

"There are ways," he replied mysteriously. "They are not important, however. The testimony of those in the meeting was enough to secure my release. A week passed before a new Knight-Commander was appointed."

I rolled my eyes. "It probably would have stretched even your skills to make the next mana-phobic moron die in an accident without implicating you."

He inclined his head in silent agreement. "Perhaps. But the opportunity never arose. The appointed man cancelled Larkworthy's negotiations, and committed to the original agreement. The mages of your Circle are once again allowed to seek employment."

I blinked. That was unexpected. "What in the Maker's name happened back in Denerim? Why would they appoint someone like that?"

Zevran pulled a letter from his tunic. "Eamon explains it in this. Apparently, the Grand Cleric nominated a favourite of hers who embodied the old prejudices. The Knight-Commander Darrian vetoed her decision, and appointed your friend Bryant to the post."

"Bryant? Bryant is the new Knight-Commander?" I boggled.

"Indeed," Zev confirmed. "The man's fortunes have swung markedly in the last few months. He was stripped of his rank and imprisoned when you neglected to surrender to the Chantry before the Landsmeet. But he was released, reinstated and promoted to take the position at the Circle on the authority of this Darrian."

I felt a sudden chill. I'd not considered the impact my decision would have on Bryant. The thought of him languishing in a cell under the Cathedral troubled me. "That bitch arrested him just because I didn't run when they whistled? And Darrian released him? How can he overrule the Grand Cleric?"

Zev gave me a sympathetic look. "She did. And it appears that the man Darrian wields disproportionate influence in the Chantry, despite simply ranking as a Knight-Commander. Beware of him, Kathryn. His motives are not yet clear."

I snorted. "It sounds like they might be too clear. We can't see them."

Zev rolled his eyes and grumbled something about the inconsistencies of the Ferelden language.

"Who is this Bryant?" Velanna asked.

"A good man," I replied simply. "A templar I met at Lothering before the darkspawn destroyed it."

She looked at me oddly. "From Oghren's tales, I would not have believed that you would describe any templar as 'good', no matter what."

I gave a small nod. "True. Oghren never met him. Bryant is more concerned with the well-being of those under his protection than abusing his authority. It didn't matter to him that I was a woman, a mage or an elf, he saw me as a Grey Warden. He gave me access to some needed supplies and ran interference with the other templars. He did everything he could to evacuate the township before the darkspawn reached it. He was the last person out."

Not finding anything in my description that she could use to denigrate the man, Velanna simply sniffed dismissively.

"I spoke with Bryant a few times after he arrived at the tower," Zev continued. "He bears you no ill will."

I sighed. "That's… good. What about the mages? Did you see Connor?"

"Ah, Eamon's son, yes? Irving asked me to tell you that he was close to using your final protection for the lad; though he refused to mention exactly what that protection consisted of. I have a suspicion, and I believe the ex-Knight-Commander did too. He - that is, Tavish - was particularly malicious towards the boy."

My eyes widened. "It was that bad?"

"Oh yes. I witnessed several incidents that would be considered criminal anywhere in the civilised world. Several mages tried protesting, and were punished harshly for their presumption. Of course, that simply encouraged the rest to plan in secret." He shook his head. "You mages are so naïve. In a week, I prevented four small groups planning sedition from being discovered by patrolling templars. Your old friends are woefully innocent of how the world works."

"We never get instruction in that," I pointed out. "They don't want us to be able to disappear if we ever escape."

Zev gave me an amused grin. "There is talk of including some 'real-life' education for the younger students. I believe the hope is that the Chantry is not embarrassed by the actions of poor, ignorant mages out in the world for the first time."

I narrowed my eyes. He was having a jibe at me. "I managed all right," I growled.

He shook his head, still highly amused. "No, my dear. You did not. You still make silly errors."

"Really?" I demanded.

"Oh yes. I find it most amusing."

I crossed my arms and leaned back in my chair. "Amusing, eh? If I'm making all these mistakes, why doesn't anyone tell me?"

Velanna laughed aloud. "Because everyone is terrified of you."

Zev nodded mournfully at my shocked expression. "Your delectable companion is correct, my dear. People who try changing your course tend to end up squashed. I am a case in point. Rather than be squashed however, I bonded myself to the crazy, sexy elf woman who shakes the entire world with her footsteps. Thedas is learning that it is safer to simply to let you go your way, and to pick up the pieces afterwards."

I blinked. "Really?" I had thought that people agreed with me because they thought I was right, not because I'd immolate them for disagreeing with me.

"Oh yes. 'Arrow straight, but nuttier than squirrel shit', is how I've heard you described. Quite aptly, too."

I glanced at Velanna, who merely returned the look questioningly. "What? He is perfectly correct," she supplied. She turned to Zev. "What 'case in point' are you referring to?"

"Oh, the Crows were hired to kill the Grey Wardens during the Blight. I was given the task, and I failed spectacularly. Kathryn was suitably moved by my eloquence and sex appeal to recruit me into her fellowship."

Velanna rounded on me. "Is that true?" she demanded.

I shrugged. "Apart from the sex appeal thing, pretty much."

"You would welcome someone _who tried to kill you_ as a companion?" she said, aghast.

I raised an eyebrow. "Sure. Zevran was hired to kill me. Sten tried to assume leadership of our group, through the Qunari method of trial at arms. Loghain hired assassins, sent troops after me, and even duelled me on the Landsmeet floor. Nathaniel planned to kill me if he got the chance. And as I recall, you set some creatures onto me the day we met. I don't see wanting me dead as a major stumbling block to developing a good working relationship."

Velanna just looked over at Zevran and said, "_Nuttier than squirrel shit_ indeed."

Zev smirked at her, but then his face grew serious. "What of the Crows who attacked you? Did you recruit any of them?"

I shook my head. "No. I have no need for incompetent idiots. You set up an ambush that should have worked. You positioned archers on high ground on both sides of me, included a mage in your group and trapped the ambush site. If it wasn't for your idiotic declaration of 'The Grey Warden dies here!' it would have been thoroughly professional. These idiots just lined up with some nobles and rushed at us in a room with dozens of pillars to hide crossbowmen behind."

"There were some archers," Velanna interjected.

"_One_ archer," I retorted. "And he lost focus the instant I ordered Thunder to go for his danglers. No, they were idiots. They were trying to kill a mage and didn't bother to bring along a mage in support. Or even someone with templar skills."

Zevran frowned. "That does not sound like the Crows. Are you sure?"

I nodded. "Quite sure. The ex-Bann Esmerelle kept journals and ledgers that proved most useful in destroying the major crime rings in Amaranthine. They were Crows, but there is nothing in her records to indicate that she paid the fee."

"That makes little sense," Zev mused. "Of course, it makes less sense given that Ignacio would not accept a contract on you in the first place."

I grinned nastily. "I'll have to ask him when I next visit Denerim."

He sighed. "Try not to kill him if you can help it. It might be difficult to develop a relationship with his successor."

* * *

><p>Zevran left a few hours later, preferring not to even stay a night. He had other urgent intelligence for Alistair and Anora that could not wait. He left after a hot meal, slightly more burdened with my correspondence for Alistair.<p>

Velanna's disposition deteriorated over the next few days, it being one of the longest periods of time she had lived without dirt between her toes. I suggested that she and Nathaniel leave the Vigil to try and locate some nearby Dalish clans. They were given several things to accomplish; exchange intelligence on darkspawn movements, introduce Nathaniel as my second and to give her the chance to reconnect with her people.

I suggested that they should also float the idea of an archery competition among the clans, offering Vigil's Keep as the location. Having the best archers in friendly competition with each other would be an exhibition I hoped many would seek to observe. With any luck, a few friendships might form between elf and human, leading to fewer misunderstandings between them. I might even be able to recruit a couple of the best archers in the land into the Wardens.

They took Benjamin and left, leaving me alone. Well, the only Grey Warden at the Keep, that is. I was hardly alone.

Another messenger arrived a few days later from the west, from the Circle. I stared at the unopened missive for a long time before I summoned the courage to read it. Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, there was no mention of recent unpleasant events. It was a request over Bryant's signature for Anders to return to the Circle to give a lecture on the Architect and its abilities. It seemed that the idea of a sentient, magic-using darkspawn with the power of a magister scared the templars of the Circle as much as it did me.

Sigrun and her team returned the day after the Circle's messenger, with a pair of veterans who wished to volunteer. They were both survivors of Ostagar, having stood with Cailan before being routed by the darkspawn. They'd lived with the Chasind for the rest of the Blight, learning their ways in return for helping them fight and hunt. With a desire for the comforts of city life and a chance to kill darkspawn, Malcolm and Brian had headed to Amaranthine to join the Wardens.

Sigrun vouched for their skills, making me very happy that my roster was slowly expanding. I wasn't the only one happy with her. The wagons she left with returned too, heavy and groaning with enough dragonbone, scales, organs and wing-membrane to have Wade almost worshipping her.

Of course, the whole dragon head was there too, though it was being dragged behind one of the wagons. Anders had worked out it could be turned over and dragged along upside down on the edges of the horns. It left furrows in any soft earth it passed over, but the idea had freed up a large amount of space in one of the wagons.

Space that was used most profitably. While Wade's reaction was almost obscene, Woolsey's was almost as bad; if only because of the usually straight-laced woman's loss of control. If doled out judiciously into the marketplace, she estimated that there was perhaps a thousand sovereigns worth material. When Anders told her that there was more to be extracted, she almost actually smiled.

Have you ever seen an accountant smile with anticipation? Scary.

o_ooo000ooo_o

Cassandra half-sighed, half growled. "I was rather hoping for the reason Anders left the Wardens."

Kathryn grinned wickedly. "Well, I needed to set up the scene."

The Seeker frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Well," the elf drawled, "after all that dragonbone arrived and we realised that we were pretty rich, I was in the mood to celebrate."

"Celebrate," Cassandra repeated, monotone.

"Yup. I'm sure you've noticed that I'm quite fond of gold. It stems from the Blight, where being destitute while attempting to save the world was quite the disadvantage."

Honey-coloured eyes narrowed. "Your Ferelden Grey Wardens are no longer financially disadvantaged," she snarled. "Not by any measure."

"Very true. At any rate, the wine flowed freely that night, and I felt the need to congratulate Anders personally."

"Ah. How very predictable," Cassandra sneered.

"You're blushing."

"I am not!"

The Warden nodded. "Yes you are. Now, how much detail would you like?"

Cassandra crossed her arms, silently praying to the Maker that her unwelcome heat in her cheeks would subside. "I would simply like the reason, rather than all the carnal details."

"Are you sure? I can't see how your report would be complete if you willingly refuse to hear-"

"Warden!"

"Fine. The reason. Boring, but fine." She took a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh. "Anders and I stumbled into my room and began getting intimate. Then, it happened."

o_ooo000ooo_o

I lay back on my bed, my arms around the back of Anders' neck, and my lips glued to his. Nude as we both were, his skin was hot against my own in the crisp, cold air of the unheated room. His strong, sculpted arms took most of his weight, leaving me able to writhe against him most satisfactorily.

He broke the kiss with a wicked grin. "Just stay right there," he whispered. "Don't move a muscle."

I blinked, wondering briefly where he thought I would go. He slipped down my body, trailing light kisses between my breasts, over my abdomen, and down to…

"Anders!" I screamed, clutching at the bedding beneath me.

No one had ever done that to me before. But just as I relaxed into the incredible sensation, my jiggling breasts attracted the attention of a particularly unwanted visitor.

Pain erupted across my chest as Ser Pounce landed, claws extended. I yelped and smacked the cat away, feeling the sensitive skin of my left nipple tear. My yelp turned into a full-fledged scream.

Thunder erupted through the door, appearing in the room in an instant, baying in anger. Ser Pounce shrieked and hissed and bolted. The blasted cat darted over my desk, shelves and my alchemical equipment, knocking over everything it its way. Thunder raced after, compounding the mayhem.

Anders screamed something, and leapt forward, wrestling my hands down. I looked at my fingers, discovering that they were somehow sparking madly. I looked up to see scorch marks along the wall.

Ser Pounce went through the open door as an orange blur. Thunder flew after, barrelling into some poor unfortunate soul on the other side and continued on without slowing a jot.

I jerked again as I instinctively cupped my injured breast, the sparks earthing themselves through the bleeding skin. Anders cursed, but his magic flared and soothed the pain.

Still bewildered, I looked at my room. The thick wooden door was ruined; from a little over half way down, there was hardly any door to speak of. Thunder had literally smashed his way through.

The rest was hardly any better. Of the dozens of flasks in my room, only a handful were whole. Pungent aromas filled the air, from poisons, healing salves, and lyrium. I suppose I should be thankful I didn't do my bomb-making in my room' I preferred to work in Dworkin's workshop. It was better ventilated, there was more room, and it had a very light roof.

Anders followed my gaze. "Well, that was… exciting. Sorry, by the way."

I reached out and grabbed his golden earring and pulled his ear close to my mouth. "If that cat isn't out of the Keep by the time I put my clothes on, I'm going to kill it."

He looked shocked at my tone and expression. "But… it was just an accident."

I glared straight into his eyes. "Get. Rid. Of. It."

o_ooo000ooo_o

The Warden lapsed into silence for a moment, breaking the flow of the tale.

Cassandra frowned. "Anders left the Grey Wardens because you made him get rid of his pet?" she asked, incredulous.

A morose nod was her answer. "Pretty much. He didn't leave straight away, of course. He promised that he would give Ser Pounce away to Delilah Howe; apparently she had found the demon-spawned feline adorable in the days following the siege. He packed his bags and left for the Circle without another word to me."

The Seeker paused, searching her memory. It seemed that Varric had indeed mentioned that Anders had been aggrieved at being forced to give up his cat by the Grey Wardens. It had been Kathryn Surana herself who had ordered him to do so? Interesting.

"I think I see what you mean by it being a compound mistake. Thank you for indulging me," she offered the elf. Though it went against every fibre of her being, she decided to offer something in return. "Do you wish to know of his movements after he left?"

Kathryn tilted her head to one side, considering the question. "Do you mean before he reached Kirkwall, or afterwards?"

Cassandra blinked. "Afterwards. I do not know how he came to be in Kirkwall."

The mage shrugged. "He delivered his lecture to the Circle, scaring their collective robes off. He then happily thumbed his nose at the templars and headed south."

"South?"

Kathryn nodded. "Yes, south. To visit his brother."

"Wilhelm's son," the Seeker breathed.

"Spot on. But whatever he was expecting from the family reunion, Matthias didn't meet it. He was pleased to discover that he had a brother, but a brother with a phylactery and a lot of templar interest? That was never going to fly with him, not with Amalia to look out for."

"Ah."

The elf nodded. "Ah indeed. Matthias gave him some food, clothes, a copy of his grimoire, and a firm goodbye. Anders felt that with both the Grey Wardens and the templars looking for him, Ferelden was a little too claustrophobic, and so he took ship for the Free Marches."

"Were you looking for him? I know for a fact that the templars were not."

The elf shook her head. "No. Merging with Justice turned him into a whining sod, and it also heightened his paranoia. But it did give him a sense of obligation to the downtrodden he did not possess before, so helping destitute refugees suited his new personality."

Cassandra rubbed her chin. "Anders set up his clinic because of how he changed with the Spirit of Justice?"

"Yes," the Warden confirmed. "Beforehand, he was a free spirit with a streak of independence and a determination to help himself first and foremost. After he arrived in Kirkwall, he tied himself down to one spot to help people with no resources. He'd only been there a month before your friend Hawke sought him out."

Cassandra nodded to herself, reconciling the timing of Anders' arrival with the end of the Champion's indenture. "I see. Dare I ask what you were doing during that period?"

Possibly the most evil smile the Seeker had ever witnessed slowly evolved on the Warden's face. "Oh, that is a fun story. After Anders left, I took some precautions to ensure the Antivan Crows would never bother me again."

o_ooo000ooo_o

I was hip-deep in ledgers and accounts when a knock at the door caused me to say, "Thank the Maker." I dropped my quill and leapt to my feet. "Enter!"

A guard opened the door. "Commander, the Teyrn of Highever approaches the Vigil."

I nodded. "Thank you. Dismissed." I slammed the ledgers shut and locked them away. I was already a week or so behind on them; another day wouldn't make a difference. Woolsey was so engrossed in setting up the taxation mechanisms for the settlement above Kal'Hirol that she probably wouldn't notice that the books weren't done yet.

I threw on a cloak, whistled for Thunder, and headed down through the Keep. Though the wind was cold, the sun was bright, and it was remarkably pleasant to stand at the foot of the stairs to the main Keep with a heavy cloak around my shoulders and the sun on my face.

A pair of comfortable carriages, each drawn by a pair of horses, led a large retinue of men-at-arms and wagons. Fergus wasn't just making a short trip. And he had some important people with him.

The leading carriage swung around as it entered the staging yard. Through the side window, I could make out a familiar profile. Fergus shook his head when he spotted me. He signalled the driver of the carriage to drive over towards me. He jumped out before the footman could collect and place the step, much to the man's dismay.

"You don't have to greet me in your staging yard, Kathryn," he said, striding over and grinning. "Nobles are quite used to being escorted inside to visit each other."

I shrugged, figuring that it was one of those mistakes that Zevran said I kept making. "I'll take any excuse to get away from the damned account books. It's good to see you, Fergus. Pleasant trip?"

His face darkened a bit. "Not even close. I was already in a complicated situation before whatever you did to the local criminal elements that persuaded them to take their business elsewhere. Our camp was attacked by a huge number of _bandits_," he emphasised the word as though not believing it, "on the edge of your arling. And the trip only got even more complicated afterwards."

I glanced over at Fergus' retinue. Two loaded carriages and three wagons would have presented a tempting target, despite the number of armed guards. The soldiers' armour certainly looked in need of the sort of maintenance that could not be conducted on the road. Wade would be working through the night to get them repaired.

A couple of familiar figures shook hands with each other. Fergus turned to see who I was looking at and made a face. "Ah. Yes."

Captain Francois and Nathaniel Howe finished their farewells, and then my second turned and made his way across the yard towards us. Nathaniel's face was a study in contrasts. His usual solemn expression was fixed rigidly, and his gaze did not waver from my eyes. "Commander," he greeted me formally.

"Nathaniel," I replied, noting the tension in the air between him and Fergus. I suppose being forced into close proximity with each other would be quite tense. "I wasn't expecting you back for a week yet. Where are Benjamin and Seranni?"

"Yes Commander," he agreed. "I decided to escort Teyrn Fergus to Vigil's Keep after his escort was reduced by a bandit attack. Benjamin and Seranni continued the mission."

Noting that Fergus was glaring at him rather than looking at me, I gave my second a clandestine wink. "Fergus said that there was a huge band of bandits. Were they near Soldier's Peak?"

"No, Commander. They were on the main road between Highever and Amaranthine."

Fergus grunted. "Can we go inside to discuss this? I need a bath. And then you and I are going to have a talk, Kathryn."

"Joy."

* * *

><p>It took Fergus admirably little time to bathe and make himself presentable. A servant escorted him and his guard captain to what we were calling 'The Warden's Lounge'.<p>

Nathaniel had already given me the bare bones of his scouting mission, but I was keen to get Fergus' perspective. He sat in his customary armchair near the fireplace, holding a glass of Antivan red, but rose respectfully to his feet as the teyrn entered the room.

"Ah, Fergus! Please, sit down. Wine?"

He nodded his acceptance, and looked around the room. "Thank you. I remember this room. What happened to all the trophies?"

"They're in storage, mostly. A few of the meaningful ones were sent back to Amaranthine with Delilah. Those animals that she or Thomas personally took down."

He regarded me curiously. "Why not display them?"

I gave him smile and a shrug. "Why would we bother displaying stag and lion heads when we take down High Dragons on a semi-regular basis. We could put up our own kills I suppose, but demon heads are too ugly and dragon skulls take up too much room." The exception, of course, was Sigrun and her dragon-skull bed. Wade had enough experience working dragonbone that he could disassemble the skull into manageable pieces. Once reassembled in Sigrun's room, it looked decidedly impressive. It took a bit of bravery to lie down on her bed, surrounded as you were by dozens of forearm-sized teeth. And you wouldn't want to roll around much.

He chuckled himself. "I suppose that makes sense. Still, I like what you've done with this room."

I looked around. The library downstairs in the main hall had been moved up here. On the walls without bookshelves were portraits of Grey Wardens I'd liberated from the compound in Denerim. Oghren had set up a sort of bar at one end, which he kept well stocked. I still didn't know where he got all his booze from.

"I suppose. It's homely, and comfortable, and all the Wardens are welcome to make use of it. It's not unusual to see Anders and Velanna arguing about spellcraft at one end and Drake and Hape arm-wrestling at the other."

Fergus sat down in a chair and gestured to me to take the one facing him. "I suppose you're wondering why I'm here," he said.

I shook my head. "You're on your way to Denerim and you want me to come along with you. You wouldn't have that much stuff in your wagons for a trip here, and there are enough spare seats in the two carriages that you and your valets could fit into one."

He blinked. "Er, yes, that's exactly right. But I do have an ulterior motive." He sighed and sipped his wine. "When the Circle first agreed to allow mages out for hire, I leapt at the chance. I requested three mages from Greagoir; a battlemage, a healer, and a pure scholar."

"A scholar?" I repeated. A battlemage and a healer I could understand.

"Howe's men left my family's library in a mess. The loss of Aldous was a blow, however any reputable scholar should have had no difficulty in organising it. But I wanted another mage. I know so few of them and know little about your abilities, you see."

In my peripheral vision, I saw Nathaniel stiffen at the mention of his father's men. I decided to push the conversation on, rather than linger on the sins of the past. "I can't see them letting you have three mages, teyrn or no."

He nodded. "True. I got two. Well, one mage and one scholar. I believe you know them; the mage is a contemporary of yours at the Circle. His name is Amell."

"Daylen?"

Fergus nodded. "That's him. He claims to be a competent healer talented in what he calls Creation Magic. Though from both the reports I have and my own observations, he outstrips that meagre description. And though he does not possess your flamboyant power and ability, he is no slouch when it comes to setting things on fire."

"I can attest to that," Nathaniel interrupted darkly, without looking directly at us.

Fergus winced. "That's true. He mistook Nathaniel for one of the bandits and tried scorching him. Fortunately, you train your Wardens well."

"What happened?" I asked. Nathaniel had given me his version, but I wanted to hear Fergus'.

The teyrn sighed. "We were within sight of the border of your arling when we were ambushed. The bandits were _very_ organised; I believe their leaders had some military training. They targeted my officers first. Francois was hit in the first volley, as were his two sergeants." He growled deep in his throat as he rubbed his eyes with frustration. "My men worked admirably under pressure with little leadership, but it took precious moments to get them responding correctly. Half were down before we could mount a proper defence."

I leaned back, hands laced and in front of my face. "Interesting. You don't think they were bandits, do you?"

He shook his head. "No. At least, not all of them. We were in a very precarious position when the bandits on one side of us started dying. The arrows from their position tapered off, allowing my men-at-arms to focus on the other." He sighed deeply, as though it pained him to describe it. "Howe-" Fergus paused, took a breath and continued, "I mean, _Nathaniel_ single-handedly killed close to a third of their number, perhaps a full score, saving me and my men."

I glanced over at my second. "And you got burned?"

He grimaced. "Yes. After the last of bandits on my side were routed, I stepped out of cover to assist Teyrn Fergus' men. Amell thought I was attacking, and blasted me with fire."

Fergus looked at me, shock on his face. "Did you not just hear me say that he killed perhaps twenty men by himself?"

I shrugged. "Yes. And?"

That seemed to stump him. "Well, I… Most people can't do that, Kathryn."

"Yes, well, we're Grey Wardens." It helped of course that we were equipped with weapons of such quality that even Kings had difficulty acquiring them. And Avernus' alchemy gave us an advantage not available to anyone else.

That and Nate was almost as skilled as Zevran in killing unnoticed. He told me that he had half down before they even noticed he was there.

A slight smile played over Nate's lips as Fergus processed that. "I see. Well, I wish to formally thank you, Nathaniel Howe, for saving my life."

Nate swallowed, but nodded his head. "I thank you, Teyrn Fergus, but that is not necessary."

Fergus sighed. "We never used to speak so formally, did we?"

Nate's eyes lowered to the floor. "No, my lord."

Fergus took a deep breath, and let it out in a pained sigh. "Nathaniel… Nate… I know you are not your father. And I don't blame you for what happened."

Nate nodded glumly. "But no Howe will ever be welcome in Highever again, will they? Twelve generations we've served and governed, and now the name Howe is blackened and will live in infamy."

Fergus bit the inside of his cheek. "In all honesty, had you asked me that last month, I'd have agreed with you. But I've seen with my own eyes what you are prepared to do to protect people, and I know that you managed to keep the Vigil safe against an entire army of darkspawn. I am honoured to know you, Nathaniel Howe."

Nate jerked his head up and stared at Fergus in shock. "I…"

Fergus held up a hand. "Please, I know that things cannot go back to the way they were. Politically and personally. And the Howe name is darkened, perhaps, but not blackened. Delilah is well thought of in Amaranthine, and you are considered a hero by almost everyone in the arling."

With a slow nod, Nate smiled. "Thank you, Fergus."

"You're welcome. And Kathryn, if you don't mind me interfering in your running of the arling, I'd be amenable to Delilah becoming Bann of Amaranthine City."

I gasped. As much as I thought such a nomination was a good idea, politically it could not work. "A Howe as Bann? Really?"

Nate's eyes didn't move from Fergus'. "Delilah has taken Albert's name. A child of Rendon Howe without the Howe name."

Fergus nodded. "Yes. Do you think she would accept?"

"I hope so," Nate replied, earnestly. "Albert is a good, gentle man, but he does not have the resources to support her in the manner she deserves."

"Especially now that she has to care for a demon," I muttered darkly.

Fergus jumped. "What?!"

"Ignore her," Nate said with a half-smile. "Anders asked her to look after his cat. It was either that or Kathryn was going to turn Ser Pounce into a belt."

"Ah, not a cat person I take it," Fergus said with a relieved smile.

"Something like that," I agreed. "Was that what you wanted to speak to me about?"

He shook his head, a bit sadly. "No, as a matter of fact. I need some help for my mage and his friend."

A faint suspicion formed. "The scholar, she wouldn't be a dwarf by the name of Dagna, would she?"

"Yes! How did you know that?"

I couldn't help but smile. "Last time I was at the Circle, Dagna mentioned Daylen. I got the impression that they were good friends, and perhaps a bit more."

Fergus nodded. "That's true. They're inseparable. That's my dilemma. Before his death, Tavish announced that all seconded mages were to be branded apostates if they did not immediately return. Some templars tried forcing Amell back to the Circle. There was some unpleasantness; he was in his clinic at the time and had just saved the life of a young woman. Now, I have two fugitives on my hands. I won't send them back to the Circle, even with the new Knight-Commander in charge. It's been made clear that they will be executed for resisting templars. Not even King Alistair's standing offer to enlist in the army would save them, as they are being sought as murderers, not apostates. I am rather hoping you can help."

I scratched my head. "I'd be delighted to recruit them, but if they don't want to be Grey Wardens, I can offer them sanctuary at Soldier's Peak. I plan to establish a Circle of Magi there without templar interference."

Fergus seemed to relax. "That would be best. Dagna can't pick up a weapon without hurting herself. I don't imagine she would be of much value to an order of warriors."

A dwarf with a love of everything magical and no preconceived notions on the subject of blood magic? I can't imagine why he thought she'd be of no value to me. She'd be running Soldier's Peak if I had my way.

* * *

><p>The possibility of being free of templar attention was enough for Daylen and Dagna to both agree to become Grey Wardens. My heart was in my throat as they underwent the Joining. Dagna insisted on going first, eager as ever to actually be part of a real-live magical ritual. Daylen gave a cry as she collapsed backwards, but he had enough self-discipline to remain still.<p>

It was odd, but I fancied that Dagna's features had a slight smile to them as her subconscious mind was introduced to the Fade.

Daylen drank fearlessly, and survived as well. I sat with them as they struggled through the initial dreams and ravenous hunger. It occurred to me that Daylen and Jowan were going to have to put aside their differences if they were going to work together.

Oghren returned before I left with Fergus, and after an hour or so with his ever-closer-to-popping wife, volunteered to escort the new Wardens to Soldier's Peak. With the roster slowly growing, we had the resources to have a few scouting teams out in the countryside.

Nathaniel was happy to look after the Keep and its paperwork while I was away. I suspected that it was more to keep me from stuffing too much up than any particular fondness for paperwork. Still, he was polite enough to deny it.

It did not escape my notice that many of the Keep's inhabitants looked relieved at the news that I was going to be absent for a few weeks.

The trip south was quite sedate and calm. The quarrying in the Wending Wood continued apace, with nothing bothering the masons beyond the occasional wolf pack. I was not obliged to unleash my magic on anyone, though I did ward our campsites thoroughly. It was only a few days on the road before we caught sight of the city.

Denerim had visibly changed in the weeks since I'd left. The damage to the outer fortifications had mostly been repaired. Cracked and shattered stone had been replaced. I could see the tips of three buildings enclosed with wooden scaffolding behind the walls.

Our party slowed and drew to a halt on the muddy thoroughfare. Nearer to the main gate, dozens of wagons were trying to either enter or leave the city. Almost all trying to enter the city were filled with either food or building materials. Several were in the process of being searched for contraband by city guards. Drivers sat idly in wagons loaded with timber and stone as their animals munched their feed, waiting patiently for their turn. Merchants argued with a bored guard officer, who ignored them until a coin or two were pressed into his hand. Animals clucked, mooed, bawled, barked and, when they decided the place just wasn't smelly enough, fertilized the mud.

It looked to be a remarkably noisy way to spend an afternoon.

Fergus sighed and shook his head. "His Majesty's obstinate policy of rebuilding the city at all costs is having an impact, I see," he muttered just loud enough that I could hear him.

I grinned at him. "You think the wagons carrying foodstuffs should have precedence?"

He winced. "I think he should have used all that stone and upgraded the road before the walls, if he planned to have this amount of heavy-laden traffic. This is the main entrance to the capital, and weeks of wagons heavy with stone have churned it so muddy that no one is moving anywhere."

I stood up and leaned out the carriage window to see a little better. "Can you see your valet?"

The teyrn shook his head. "No, I wonder where… wait, there he is," he said, pointing towards the portcullis.

I followed Fergus' finger. Half-hidden behind the press of bodies and animals was a small alcove recessed into the wall by the gate. It variously served as the guard room, office, dressing room, armoury and makeshift jail – depending on necessity and time of day. Barely two people could fit into it without touching. Fergus' manservant Matthew emerged from the crowded niche and began the squelchy trek towards us.

His expression did not inspire confidence. He bowed and said, "My Lord! Apologies, but the guard at the gate refuses to clear the way for you. He claims to be under orders that wagons containing building materials be given priority. He claims to have the authority of the crown in this."

Fergus made a face and turned to me. "I suppose you could clear the way with a spell if you wanted to."

I nodded. "Easily. But that would probably cause a bit more property damage than you're willing to entertain. And the noise of the resulting stampede would spoil our dinner with Alistair and Anora."

"Droll, Kathryn, very droll." He sighed and turned back to Matthew. "Fetch the guard captain. I'll have words with him."

"Why?" I asked as Matthew bowed his acceptance and headed back through the mud. "He's just going to hold you here until you bribe him. Teyrn or not, you have no authority. You're just a wealthier mark to him."

Fergus looked over his shoulder at our entourage. "What do you suggest then? Wait here for the crowd to clear? Go inside single file? Leave the baggage train outside the walls?"

I snorted. "Nothing so drastic," I replied, reaching for my purse.

"You're going to bribe the captain?" Fergus blurted in disbelief.

"No. I'm going to piss him off."

He was far too much the diplomat to let his expression betray his confusion, but his blank stare was enough. I winked at him and then leapt out of the carriage, close to the nearest wagons. "How much to jump in front of you?" I asked the driver.

The rail-thin man, with an unkempt beard and perhaps a dozen teeth, looked me up and down. His eyes widened in recognition. "'Ere! You're the bloomin' Grey Warden, ain't cha?"

I nodded. "Well spotted. I'd like to get into the city to give my report to the king. Would you accept a silver for us to take your spot in the queue?"

His eyes bulged. Back at the Vigil, a silver coin was a reasonable day's wage to a wagon driver. And that was in an arling where banditry was rife. "A whole silver?" he blurted.

"Fine, two silvers. That's my final offer," I said, deliberately misinterpreting him.

Greedy eyes lit up. "You're on!"

I nodded, but held up a hand. "Just a moment then; I'll make sure the rest of the line agrees too." I strode up the line, offering a pair of silver coins to each driver to let us ahead. One shifty-looking fellow near the head of the queue tried holding out for more, but I shrugged and said loudly that the whole deal was off. The thought of being stuck in the one spot with several burly men who had just lost a bonus because of him quickly changed his mind.

The captain of the guard tried interrupting to get his cut, but I ignored him. Much to his impotent indignation.

It probably cost me a bit more to pay the drivers to let us past than paying the captain in the first place. But I had a fundamental objection to letting someone profit from being obstinate. Making a dozen, hard-working lives a bit better was much more palatable than enriching a corrupt bastard. I kicked the mud off my shoes and jumped back into the carriage next to Fegus.

As a member of the nobility, Fergus and his entourage were not obliged to submit to a customs search, and we trotted on through the rapidly-cleared gate.

"I'm not sure whether to laugh or chastise you for your unorthodox methods," Fergus chuckled next to me. "You realise that the gate captain is just going to extort the silvers from the drivers."

I shrugged. "Perhaps. He could certainly try. But most of the drivers are not the owners of the goods in their wagons, so they don't care if there's a delay; not when their drinking money is safe. They've got a bonus, and they'll be quite happy to sit until the crowd clears. Who knows, maybe he'll end up with fewer ill-gotten coins today."

The slow trek through the city gave me time to mentally review my report. Alistair was not going to be happy with some of the things I had done.

* * *

><p>"Let me just recap," Alistair said wearily, rubbing his forehead. "You had a noble executed for murder, without a witness to the deed. You-"<p>

I held up a hand. "He _was _covered in blood and caught fleeing the scene."

Alistair's eyes flashed momentarily at being interrupted. He was becoming used to command, but had still not reached the point where he would actually make decisions himself. "But you had no witnesses," he reiterated.

I leaned forward, not the least bit intimidated. "If anyone else had been found in the same situation, they'd have been executed without a witness needed," I pointed out.

"But he was a noble," he almost whined.

I covered my face with a hand. "And it was a noble who was brutally murdered, Alistair. Or was that fact conveniently left out by the complainants?"

His face coloured. Evidently, I'd hit a sore spot. Fergus cleared his throat. "Your Majesty, unconventional as they were, Arlessa Kathryn's decisions were legal. And don't forget that Temmerly was involved in the conspiracy against her."

Alistair hammered the table in front of him with a fist. "Damn it! Temmerly's family are claiming that the conspiracy _began _with his execution. That it was Kathryn's ham-fisted methods of justice that brought them together."

Eamon rose to his feet and bowed to Alistair. "Majesty, if I may. The claims made by Ser Temmerly's uncle are not chronologically consistent. He claims to have come to Denerim to warn you of the brewing conspiracy, yet his driver almost flogged two horses to death driving the carriage to Denerim. While it cannot be confirmed, I believe he must have left his manor after he received the news that Kathryn had survived the assassination attempt."

Fergus snorted. "Not to mention that it's highly unlikely a conspiracy moves so quickly. And it is both interesting and telling that he fled to the capital, rather than Highever. Had he truly wished to swear out a complaint, or present evidence of the conspiracy, he should have come to me, as Kathryn's liege lord."

Alistair rubbed his eyes wearily. "I just can't believe the trouble you got into in only a month!"

"Six weeks," I corrected.

He glared at me. "I shudder to think what would have happened if you were still there." He raised a hand and started ticking off on his fingers. "A Revered Mother and a Knight-Captain, arrested, the Chantry in an uproar. A nobleman executed on your order. Seven nobles killed by your hand. A peasant rebellion. Your major port city almost destroyed."

Fergus raised an eyebrow. "You think her unsuccessful?" he asked pointedly, foregoing using a title for the first time I'd heard.

Alistair frowned. "What do you mean?"

Fergus sighed. "Your Majesty, you've either only received the negative news, or are only looking at it in a negative light."

"There's good news in this?"

Fergus was diplomatic enough that his expression did not flicker, but I could sense his frustration. "Yes. Kathryn has taken an arling shattered by mismanagement, war and crime - one that that even the best predictions had it being a drain on the treasury for years - and turned it into a viable concern. _In six weeks_.

"Banditry within the arling is almost eradicated. In six weeks. The darkspawn have all but vanished, with the breaking of the siege of Vigil's Keep. All in six weeks. Merchants from all along the Coastlands are sending ships of goods to Amaranthine, drawn by the rumours of dwarven gold. _In six weeks_. Do I need to continue?"

* * *

><p>Continue he did. Fergus had my back, refusing to let Alistair blame me for the negative consequences of my actions. Eventually, demands on the King's time intruded and he had to postpone the rest of the debriefing. Fergus and I were escorted to our quarters for the evening.<p>

Once alone with Thunder, I set about my plans for the Crows. In my chest I had some preserved items that were going to come in useful for intimidating people used to being the intimidators.

The shape shifting spells Morrigan taught me were impressive in their scope and power. Yet for all her ability and power, her lack of formal education was apparent. She never considered the obvious (at least, obvious to me) secondary applications. Spells that adjusted mass were not unknown in the Circle, but they tended to be short-lived elemental conjurations. The shape shifting spells could be modified to include your clothes, that was a given. But with a bit of extra thought, you could extend that ability a bit beyond the original limited thinking.

With the addition of mouse and mabari fur to the rim, I could include a sack in my transformations, and carry several large objects with me as either animal.

It was the work of only moments to leave the palace unnoticed as a mouse. Once on the streets, I shifted into the form of a hound and trotted to the marketplace. Shifting to a mouse again, I wriggled through the various cracks, knotholes and gaps in the walls of a particular building. A rodent could go just about anywhere undetected in a city – so long as there were no cats along the route.

A few minutes of hurried scampering put me directly in the heart of the local Crow operation, without alerting the guards to my presence. I silently returned to my own form, and carefully lowered the fur-rimmed sack I carried to the floor.

Ignacio was sleeping on an elaborate bed, one hand under the pillow and no doubt clasped around the hilt of a dagger or knife. I carefully breathed a spell of sleep, dropping it so that it would cover both the slumbering figure on the bed and the inevitable guard outside his door.

A soft thump on the far side of the door indicated the success of my spell. I divested the sleeping Crow of his weapons; three daggers and a long poniard. How he slept without perforating himself was a mystery I'd have to solve at a later date. I bound his hands and tied a loose slipknot around his neck. The other end of that rope went over the rafters and tied off on the foot of the bed.

I cast a barrier over the inside of the door, so that if we were to be interrupted, I'd have time to escape.

Time for action. I placed the sack on the bed, jammed one knee on his chest and pulled down on the rope. Instantly, his eyes snapped open and he tried scrabbling at his neck with bound hands. I let a flicker of primal energy light the candles on his armoire. From the colour of his face, I was pulling down a bit too hard on the rope.

I slowly eased the pressure, allowing Ignacio to draw a ragged breath. His face faded to merely scarlet. His dark eyes latched onto mine, and recognition sparked in their depths. He relaxed his body and his expression.

I leaned forward. "The Crows accepted a contract on me," I snarled, my lips inches away from his face. "I want to know when our mutual, non-aggression pact was put aside."

Ignacio had obviously faced down those who wished him dead many times before; despite his surprise and vulnerability, his serene expression barely flickered. He opened his mouth, and wheezed, "It… has… not," his voice strained by the pressure on his throat.

"Oh really?" I retorted. I gave my head a slight incline to the right. "Reach into that bag there. Pull out what's inside."

Gingerly, the Crow slipped his bound hands into the bag and winced at what his hand touched. He pulled out a severed head by the hair.

"Care to identify him?" I whispered into his ear.

Ignacio swallowed again. I could hear the saliva as it slipped past the rope. He carefully turned the head around until the permanently lopsided face was towards him. A few seconds later, he wheezed out, "Alario. Cellion Alario."

I pulled down a little harder on the rope, tightening the noose. "Cellion, eh? Well, Cellion here tried shooting at me with a crossbow a few weeks ago. He and half a dozen of his friends tried killing me. Perhaps you'd care to explain how that matches with your claim?"

Ignacio gave a spluttering cough. He drew a ragged breath and said, "An approach… was made… after you… went north. I… turned it down." His eyes swivelled around in their sockets to look at me. "I thought… you knew."

I paused at the unexpected response. Why would he think I knew he had been approached? Did I know the person who approached him? That was unlikely. No, for someone like Ignacio to make that assumption, I'd have had to have _killed_ the person who approached him.

The silence extended as I pondered that conclusion. Had I killed the individual who had approached Ignacio? I couldn't think of any specific person that would fit the theory. Logically, it would have had to have been after I left Denerim for Amaranthine, but also quite some time before the rebellion, and I had only really killed bandits and darkspawn in that period.

Unless… perhaps it wasn't _me_ who had killed the person. What if it had been one of my _allies_? Most likely it was Zev-

"Tavish," I snorted, releasing the pressure enough that the assassin could breathe without rasping. "Knight-Commander Tavish approached you. Or one of his flunkies."

Ignacio nodded, with the care of someone who knows that despite the respite, the rope around his neck could very easily be tightened on a whim. He coughed and cleared his throat. In a rough whisper he said, "Yes. I sent a message to you, but my messenger has not returned. Perhaps bandits or darkspawn prevented his return. Your pet killed Tavish, so I assumed that you received my message of his attempt to employ us."

I grinned at him, silently wondering how Zevran would take to being called my pet. I upended the sack onto the bedspread, sending a couple of other heads rolling out. A couple bounced off each other with a percussive 'tonk', fell off the bed and rolled across the floor. "Despite your claim, these heads say that the contract was accepted, don't they?"

"Not by me. Alario belonged to a different cell. Different master." He shook his head with a theatrical expression of mournful despair. "Silly man. Greedy man."

I wasn't sure I believed him entirely, but it was a believable explanation. I grinned nastily at him. "Tell me where I can find this… _silly man_."

* * *

><p>Four and a half crowded hours later, a thumping on my bedroom door and Thunder's immediate responsive barks pulled me from my usual nightmare. I'd watched genlocks threaten me in my dreams for so long now I could almost sleep through it, as it were. I blinked the dried tears from my eyes as the pounding continued. "Kathryn!" shouted a familiar voice. "Kathryn, are you in there?" Thunder's barks ceased to be threatening and became excited.<p>

I kicked off the covers and threw a thick woollen blanket around my shoulders. "Stop your pounding, Alistair," I snapped. "I'm coming."

I drew back the bolt and opened the door. Alistair stood outside, attired in a similar manner as me - a woollen cloak over his sleepwear. Eamon stood behind his right shoulder - with a guard behind him holding a flaming torch. Thunder immediately stuck his head into Alistair's side, fishing for an ear-scratch.

"Is something the matter?" I yawned.

The King sighed on seeing me. "You're all right," he said, relief evident in his voice. Unconsciously, he dropped a hand to Thunder's head and scratched my dog's ears.

I raised an eyebrow. "Of course I'm all right. Why wouldn't I be?"

He opened his mouth, but suddenly looked a bit abashed. "I, er, well, that is…"

I rubbed my face wearily. "Spit it out or let me go back to bed."

The guard behind Eamon cleared his throat. "Um, it was me, Commander."

I blinked at the voice. "Pickering?"

The young guard nodded and shifted the flaming torch he held so that it illuminated his face. "Yes, Commander."

I yawned again. "All right. What exactly did you do?"

He glanced at Alistair first, then at Eamon. At their nods, he cleared his throat. "Perhaps not here?"

I stepped to one side, allowing the trio entry into my chamber. Thunder jumped up and down excitedly as people he recognised as friends were allowed entry.

I looked at Alistair and gestured towards the chair at the desk. "Please?"

He shook his head. "No thanks, Kat. I'll stand. Eamon? You should sit."

The greying noble offered his thanks, and took the chair. The groan as he lowered his body onto the padded seat turned into a sigh.

I frowned. Eamon looked to have aged a dozen years since taking up the post of Chancellor.

"Er, Majesty?" Pickering said questioningly, looking at Alistair for permission to speak.

"Go ahead."

He nodded and turned to me. "Um, the Antivan Crows in the city have marked you for death. They've put an open contract out on you."

"Bugger," I said, covering my eyes with a hand. "That's pretty much the exact opposite of what I intended."

Alistair blinked owlishly at me. "What?" he blurted.

I took a deep breath for the exposition. "I went and had a little chat with Ignacio earlier. He pointed me in the direction of the Crow Master who took the contract on me. I then went and had a little chat with him."

"Did you just talk with him, or did you threaten him?" Alistair demanded.

Pickering gave Alistair a pained look. "She killed him. Pretty gruesomely."

"Of course she did," the King said wearily, covering his eyes with a hand. "And she didn't bother hiding her identity, did she?"

I poked him in the chest. "_She_ is right here."

He rubbed his chest. "Well? Did you bother hiding your identity? Did you?"

I rocked my head from side to side. "Well, no. But you were being impolite."

Eamon growled. "Perhaps we could remain focused on the issue at hand? What did you learn, Kathryn?"

I shrugged. "That Tavish paid the Crows to accept a contract on me. A flattering sum too, to tell the truth."

Alistair glared at me. "How much?" he asked in a very slow, deliberate tone.

"Two thousand sovereigns."

Eamon started coughing at that. Pickering's eyes widened amusingly, while Alistair simply stared at me, a frown on his face. "Are you certain it was Tavish? I can't believe… how would he be able to put his hands on that sort of coin?"

I shrugged again. "Ignacio was sure it was Tavish making the offer. So much so that when he died under suspicious circumstances at the Circle, Ignacio's Crows just assumed that I was behind the death, and that I was making a point. But after Tavish's man was turned down by Ignacio, he approached another Crow Master – Lucius –who did accept the contract."

Pickering cleared his throat. "Lucius is a – er, _was_ an influential man. He has three sons here in Denerim – all high ranking Crows – who have declared the Commander to be under an open contract."

I looked at the young guard curiously. "Hang on. Just how do you know that? Did you find a snitch willing to sell that information that quickly?"

He swallowed, and looked over at Alistair. He nodded. "Tell her. She should know."

"If you wish, Majesty," Pickering replied politely. "I am, er, well, I'm sort of learning espionage skills."

I blinked. "Sort of learning?"

He nodded, and gave me a wry grin. "Zevran is training me. That day I took you to the alienage? He paid for those thugs to attack us; as sort of a test for me."

I nodded. That explained the relatively tiny amount in the attacker's purses. A minor mystery solved. "Right. You passed, I take it?"

"Yes, Commander. He wanted to see how I reacted to being attacked by surprise, and he knew that you would keep me safe. Anyway, he's been teaching me things he learned from the Crows, including the way they operate. I've sort of infiltrated one of their bases as a servant. Bringing them food and supplies."

I raised an eyebrow. "They haven't spotted you?"

He shook his head. "Zevran says they haven't. Mostly because I'm not trying to push my way into their ranks, just ingratiate myself as a relatively trustworthy servant."

I nodded. "Okay. I can see that. So you're spying on them, and you found out about the open contract."

The guard nodded his head. "Yes. I just don't know why they moved so quickly. It makes no sense. The Crows are all terrified of you, but the reward will ensure that some of them will make the attempt."

I smirked. "They might have a bit of trouble paying anyone who makes the attempt."

Pickering shook his head. "No. They have the two thousand sovereigns that Tavish paid to Lucius. The Crows keep their clients' fee in escrow until the contract is completed. At least, that's what Zevran told me. Only then is it delivered to the guild. That way, if for whatever reason they cannot complete the contract, they can return it."

My smirk widened. "No, as a matter of fact, they don't. Have the coin, that is."

All three men suddenly focused their gaze on me with an amusing intensity. "Are you saying that you stole two thousand sovereigns when you killed Lucius?" Eamon demanded.

I looked at him, my face blank. "Of course not." I waited until they processed that declaration before continuing. "I stole almost three thousand sovereigns when I killed Lucius. My contract wasn't the only one outstanding. And he had the key to the vault on him. It was almost as if the Maker himself was slapping his leg and saying, 'Do it, Kathryn!'"

Eamon slammed his fist down on my desk. "Damn it Kathryn! That's why they want you dead! It's got nothing to do with Tavish, or Lucius, or Ignacio. It's the money they want back. If they renege on the contract to kill you, they need to return it! Without it, they are being forced to kill you!"

I frowned. "That makes sense. I didn't think about that."

He snarled at me. "Obviously. What exactly were you thinking?"

I narrowed my eyes at the arl, letting my expression reveal how close I was to snapping. "Damn it Eamon, I was _making a point_. If one of them accepts a contract on me, I won't just kill those sent after me. No, I will hunt down and kill the Master who accepted the contract. And I will steal the fee too. So if anyone else is tempted, it's their arse on the line, not just their flunkies' arses."

Alistair covered his whole face. "Well, regardless, we need to get you out of Denerim. Pickering says that it's not just Crows who will come after you. As an open contract, the Crows will pay anyone who kills you. I'll organise an escort for you-"

"No you won't," I interrupted firmly. "I'm not leaving. They've upped the ante, that's all. If I run now, all my work tonight will have been rendered worthless."

Alistair stared at me, horror mounting on his face. "What are you going to do?"

I grinned at him evilly. "I am going to scare the shit out of every last Crow south of Antiva. I am going to annihilate Lucius' three sons. Then I'm going to destroy their lieutenants and kill any Crow who tries to fight. Then I'm going to steal every coin they have, slaughter their pets, pull their houses down, burn the remains, and piss on the ashes."

Silence greeted that declaration. "That's all?" Alistair eventually asked in a weak voice.

I grinned and nodded. "Of course that's all. Anything more would just be extremism."

o_ooo000ooo_o

AN: Thanks to my reviewers - Pintsizedpsycho, Nightbrainzz, MB18932, The Lord of Nothing, Arsinoe de Blassenville and Jormund Elver.

And that's how I figure Anders left. In DA2 he's pissed at having to give up Ser Pounce, so I went with that. Hope you all enjoy it.


	22. Four and twenty 'black birds' diced up

disclaimer type=standard

Anything you recognise is Bioware's. I daresay anything else belongs to them too.

/disclaimer

o_ooo000ooo_o

The Seeker leaned back in her chair, her hand on her chin in thought. "You have mentioned this man Pickering several times. Yet I have not heard of him before."

The Warden snorted with derision. "Yes you have."

Cassandra paused, forcing back the flash of anger at being corrected so disrespectfully. "I assure you that with the exception of your tale, I have not heard of this man before."

Emerald eyes fixed on her own. "Yes, you have," Kathryn insisted.

Cassandra forced herself to breath in and out slowly. "Very well. When would I have heard of this man?"

The Warden gave her a cheeky grin, calculated to infuriate. "How about I continue my tale, and we'll see when you figure it out?"

o_ooo000ooo_o

With depressing predictability, Eamon objected to my stated aim of burning down various buildings of Denerim. Yes, even if there were assassins living inside. Unfortunately, Alistair agreed with his Chancellor, or at least agreed that the fires could quite easily spread beyond acceptable boundaries.

Fortunately, the pair did agree with me that the number of assassins in Denerim could do with thinning out. A point of view I suspected was most popular with people in power, but just about anyone with wealthy enemies would probably agree.

Eamon wanted to know whether or not we had the ability to root them all out. It came as a bit of an unwelcome realisation that Eamon and I had a bit more in common that I felt comfortable in acknowledging. At least I was able to fight off the assassination attempts on my life personally. He had to deal with the fact that Jowan had all but been successful, and Eamon was only walking around due to (literally) a miracle.

I pointed out that Ignacio had in fact refused to take the contract on my life. I hadn't believed his claim when he first made it, earlier in the evening. But Lucius had been most forthcoming before I'd violently ejected him from the mortal coil. The 'greedy man' had admitted to taking the contract only because Ignacio had not.

Killing Ignacio and his own Crows as well would add a layer of complexity to any plan that it did not need, and the benefit of doing so would be negligible. Sure, there'd be fewer Crows in Denerim for a couple of months, but eventually they'd be back. And we wouldn't know who they were.

As it was, knowing the identity, current location and operational methodologies of the remaining Crows would be just enough value to justify letting Ignacio live. I smiled to myself as I wondered if he'd be pleased or annoyed with that conclusion.

As for the rest, the trick would be to ensure each of Lucius' three sons were in close enough proximity to kill them all in one operation. Having to chase them individually through the city would no doubt prove beyond our limited resources.

I eventually convinced Eamon and Alistair that they agreed with me. "Right, in order to kill Lucius' sons and cripple the rest, I am going to need Pickering's help. Do you mind?"

Eamon blanched, but Alistair (who had been used as everything from bait to vanguard in my insane plans in the past) simply looked over at Pickering with a questioning expression.

The young guard/spy blinked, but nodded firmly. "Yes Commander. I am at your disposal."

I grinned at him. I liked his eager-to-please attitude. "Excellent. Let me think of a plan." I looked at the ceiling for a few seconds before returning my gaze to Pickering. "Right, got one. Take your pants off."

Instantly, I was graced with three blushes of varying intensity. It's so cute that men think that they're in charge.

"What?" Alistair spluttered.

"For my plan," I clarified, my voice calm and collected. "I need Pickering's trousers. Also, I will need a needle and thread, a small coil of thick wire, a broken dagger, my cousin Shianni, two yards of some expensive, diaphanous fabric and a couple of vials of pig's blood."

Maker, I loved doing that to people. The three expressions of stunned, uncomprehending silence were pure gold.

"Oh, and I'll also need the services of the most terrifying war hound imaginable."

"Whuff!" Thunder barked, sitting rigidly to attention.

At least my mabari was able to keep up with the conversation.

* * *

><p>Pickering could run really fast.<p>

I mean really, really fast.

Of course, if you've got a lion-sized hound on your heels and howling for your blood, it lends a certain immediacy to the need for speed.

He raced along a narrow alleyway, pulling down piles of crates and knocking over stalls. Somehow, despite his usual agility, Thunder managed to hit and stumble over every obstacle dropped in his path.

People stopped and gawked as he raced past. Those whose possessions he scattered in front of Thunder bellowed their rage at the young man, or at least his rapidly retreating back.

He emerged from the alleyway into one of the numerous common squares of Denerim, bustling with industrious figures at the early hour. He dodged between them skilfully, heading directly for a particular building. One with a balcony on the second level.

He leapt well, grabbing hold of the balustrade. His momentum caused him to swing wildly for a moment; enough time for Thunder to close quickly. With a shout of fear and determination, he hauled his body up and over the railing, and out of the range of Thunder's snapping jaws.

I wanted to applaud. But that was a bit difficult to do when I was in the form of a mouse, desperately holding onto the protective coil of wire sewn into one of the pockets of Pickering's trousers. I had my head stuck out just enough that I could see what was going on, but the constant bouncing and jerking was faintly nauseous.

Pickering staggered back, putting a little more distance between him and Thunder's still-snapping jaws. Panting heavily himself, he climbed further up the building and onto the roof.

Slate slick with morning dew made this leg of his trip difficult, but he managed to cross the building and slide down the other side, landing hard in a muddy puddle.

"Are you all right, Commander?" he whispered.

I reached through a gap in the wire coil and scratched his leg once, our signal for yes.

Thunder's baying drew closer. My mabari was clever enough to find a way around the row of buildings.

Staggering slightly, Pickering again took off in a run – less than a sprint but far more than a jog.

"Near… ly… there…" he panted.

He angled towards a nondescript door. The only feature worth mentioning was the beggar sitting off to one side. A lookout, perhaps?

Pickering launched himself at the door, and hammered on it with his fists. Behind him, Thunder rounded the corner and charged.

"Swordfish! Swordfish! Open the bloody door!" he shouted. "Swordfish!"

Several voices inside cursed and argued. I heard the sound of a bolt sliding back and the door inched open. "Wha-"

With a surge of strength, Pickering shoved the door open and lunged through, sprawling on his stomach. "Shut it! Shut it! Shut it!" he shouted.

Spurred on by the urgency in his voice, two men slammed the door shut, one holding it closed while the other fumbled with the bolt. There was a threatening bark and a concussive slam as Thunder hit the other side of the door, causing the two men to bounce off the wood slightly. The door held, but the hinges were definitely a bit looser in their housing. Both men suddenly had rather wide eyes.

"_Creatore_!" one breathed. Obviously Antivan, that one.

Once the door was bolted and Thunder reduced to simply scratching and gnawing at the outside, the other man turned to Pickering. "Who are- wait. I know you. You're one of the workers. What are you doing here, boy? Andraste's arse, you screamed out the password for everyone to hear. What is going on?" That one sounded Fereldan.

Pickering swallowed, slowly rising to his feet. "I need to speak to Lucius."

Both men stared blankly at him before bursting into laughter. "Why would Lucius want to speak to a gutter rat like you?" the Fereldan scoffed.

"Because I just killed the Warden."

That killed the laughter dead. "What?" the Antivan demanded.

"I made a delivery to the palace this morning," Pickering replied. "The Warden was there, and when her back was turned, I stabbed her in the heart and ran. I know that there's a contract on her. I want the reward."

The men shared a glance. "He's talking bollocks," the Fereldan scoffed. "There's no way a gutter rat would be able to do the bitch in."

"Perhaps," the Antivan replied, looking Pickering up and down. "But there's no dagger in that sheath. Anyway, it's easy enough to confirm. Why did you come here, boy?"

"That bloody dog chased me from the palace. I've made deliveries here. I know there's not a lot here, and I didn't want to lead it anywhere important."

Neither man looked as though they believed him. "Likely story. But it's not my place to skin you for lying. Come on then."

The Antivan glanced at his companion. "Who are you taking him to see?"

"Victor. He can decide what to do with him."

Pickering took half a step back. "What? Why Victor? I want to see Lucius! He's the one who put the contract out on the Warden."

The Antivan grinned nastily. "Well then, you'd better be very persuasive then."

* * *

><p>Pickering was roughly hoisted to his feet and frog-marched through the backstreets of Denerim. He was patted down for weapons, but as a mouse in a trouser pocket with holes, they didn't find me.<p>

Pickering's coughing and sudden stiffening of limbs indicated that he wasn't used to having a small creature run up and down his thigh. Some people are just so sheltered.

We were half-dragged to a warehouse, still bearing the scars of that night nine months ago. Several Crows were inside, some practicing weapon skills, some maintaining their equipment, some relaxing and playing cards. My sharp ears picked up hushed rumours of my death as they swept through the ears of the assembled assassins. One by one, group by group, they all followed us deeper into the warehouse and down into the cellars.

Pickering was starting to panic at the number of trained killers nearby, so I scratched his leg three times, telling him to wait.

Victor turned out to be one of Lucius' sons; the sadistic one. We were dragged down two levels of basement and shoved through a doorway, into a makeshift torture chamber. Three figures were being 'serviced'; two bound to the wall and one to an esoteric wooden structure. Their whimpers were hoarse, as though they'd been screaming for hours. Four other people stood around them, holding the awful tools of the torturer's trade.

One, a big man with a moustache that looked as though it was the work of several hours grooming every morning, glared at Pickering as he caught his balance. "What's this?" he demanded as a single crimson drop left the tip of the instrument in his hand. The blood splashed on the floor and mixed with the rest.

The Antivan man who escorted us scoffed and shoved Picking into the centre of the room. "This piece of dog shit claims to have killed the Warden."

"I did!" Pickering blurted, keeping in character quite nicely. The three pitiful wretches in the room looked up hopefully at that.

"Really?" Victor said with a dangerous leer. "You. Go get Sal and Alberto. They need to hear this." He turned back to Pickering. "Well my little man. Tell Uncle Victor how you killed the bitch, yes?"

With an audible swallow, Pickering said, "I made a delivery to the palace this morning. The Warden was there, with her bloody dog. She turned away from me, and I stabbed her. Right in the heart. And then I ran."

"Straight to my warehouse," the Antivan grumbled as he left.

Victor sneered at Pickering. "Perhaps I should test your story, yes? Maybe you have a different one to tell after an hour on the rack?"

"No! It's true!" Pickering wailed. Whatever the tone in his voice suggested, he wasn't trembling. I was impressed.

"Help our guest into a chair," Victor snarled.

"No! Wait!" Pickering shouted as three torturers approached him, all grinning wildly. One reached out and grabbed his arm, but Pickering pulled away. The other two surged forward, grappling him.

I held onto the coil of wire with my rear legs and leaned out of his pocket far enough to sink my teeth into one torturer's hand. He yelped and let go at the sudden unexpected pain. I scurried across Pickering's shirt and bit the other one.

That one cursed in Antivan, but let go too.

"What's this?" Victor demanded.

"The little bastard's got a rat," one grumbled.

"It bit me," the other whined, holding the minor wound out for Victor to see – a bit hypocritical, given his profession and three victims in the room.

"You keep a pet rat?" Victor demanded.

Pickering swallowed. "A mouse. I'm training her," he said, sticking to our script if I was discovered before the three brothers all made an appearance. "I'm teaching her to fetch keys and things."

Victor's face grew sly. "Really? Show me. Sit in that chair," he said, indicating something that looked more like a birthing stool with shackles. "If your rat can get the key off this table, I won't skin you."

Pickering glanced around at the other three torturers, and then at the door as though gauging if he could make a run for it. Given the two guards at the door narrowed their eyes at him, he turned back to Victor and nodded slowly. "Al- all right," he said.

Tentatively, he sat down on the chair. One of the torturers roughly grabbed his arms and locked them in place. He then slugged Pickering across the face. "That's for your bloody rat biting me," he snapped.

"Rennie," Victor mock-chided. "That's no way to treat our guest. If his rat can't get the key from here," he put a key on a table on one side of the room, "then you can do a lot worse."

Pickering looked down at me, still clinging to his shirt. He gave a couple of meaningless whistles. Clever boy.

I scurried down his body and across the floor. He kept whistling different sounds, presumably in an effort to make them believe that I was being directed by him. For realism, I paused twice and stood on my hind legs and sniffed at the air. I'd seen mice and rats do that before.

It was the work of a moment to scurry up the table leg. Once on the table top, I ran over and started dragging the key back. I pushed it off the table and ran down the leg again.

Victor looked a bit surprised. "Hmm, not bad. I might buy this rat from you." He turned to face Pickering. "Or I might just kill you and take it, yes?"

I dragged the key across the slick floor over to Pickering. I managed to get a strong grip in my mouth and carry it up to him.

"Good girl," he whispered. He fumbled with the key a bit, but managed to use a single hand to unlock one of the shackles. Once that hand was free, he unlocked his second hand.

"Well, it looks like you could be useful after all," Victor grudgingly admitted. "How long does it take to train a rat to do that?"

Pickering shrugged, scooping me back up and putting me back in his pocket. "A few months, I guess. And she's a mouse, not a rat."

The idea of having trained rodents able to pilfer keys seemed positive, and a couple of the guards at the door began making plans to capture some and experiment. My little show had soothed Victor's sadistic impulse for the moment.

The guards at the door stepped to one side, allowing another man entrance. The family resemblance was vague, but there. He carried himself like a warrior, with scars of varying ages worn proudly on his bare forearms. "Victor, have you heard?"

"The Warden bitch?"

The newcomer nodded. "Word is she's dead. Killed this morning."

Victor jerked his head towards Pickering. "This little rat and his littler rat claim to have done it. I was just about to find out how."

With startling intensity, the new arrival stepped over and stared into Pickering's eyes. "You killed the Warden?"

He nodded. "Stabbed her in the back."

"I am Sal," the man introduced himself. "Victor here is my brother. I would know everything."

Nodding, Pickering began relating the scene we staged carefully. Shianni, her back doused with pigs blood and decorated with a dagger hilt, had been laid out with her face towards a wall. All those who saw her body would see nothing but a slight elf woman with scarlet hair in blood-stained mage robes.

Once enough people had seen her to start the rumour mill going, Alistair would order that she be laid out under a thin, partially transparent sheet in the chapel, far enough away from gawkers that they hopefully wouldn't notice that Shianni's features were a bit different from mine. Or that the 'corpse' was still breathing. With any luck she wouldn't have to scratch her nose or anything.

"-and I ended up chased by her dog."

Sal nodded. "I see."

Victor glared at Pickering. "He led that bloody dog to one of our warehouses."

"A warehouse is a small price to pay for her death, Victor," Sal replied soothingly. "Father has been avenged."

I presumed that the third brother was this Alberto who had been summoned. Hopefully, he would arrive soon and I could begin slaughtering them.

A rail-thin man, stepped into the room. I presumed that this was Alberto, but he looked nothing like the other brothers. "Sal?" he asked in a cultured voice and a light Antivan accent. "Thoughts?"

The sadistic maniac's brother turned and nodded respectfully. "Sounds legitimate."

The thin man did not seem to take that at face value. He sat down on one of the disgusting pieces of torturing equipment and placed the tips of his fingers together, as though he were at the high table at the palace. "Give me the details," he said, his voice quiet and modulated. Despite his light frame and cultured mannerisms, this had to be Alberto. And if so, then he was the real brains of the three brothers. And as such, the most dangerous.

Pickering's story was related again, and he simply listened. He asked no questions, indeed, he made no move whatsoever.

Once the story had finished, he hummed a short beat. "Send someone to the alienage."

My heart started beating even faster than the hundreds of times a minute that was normal for a mouse.

"The alienage?" Sal questioned.

Another short hum. "Yes. The Warden has a cousin there with similar hair. She was considered as a potential hostage. Were I the Warden eager to fake my death, I could use her as a decoy. If the cousin is in the Alienage, then we reward this man."

Victor turned to one of the guards. "You heard Alberto. Go!"

That was it. I erupted from Pickering's pocket and leapt to the ground. With a shimmer, I turned back into an elf and while everyone stared in shock, unleashed a wave of concussion magic.

Not all the Crows were stunned, however. Sal and one of his Crows managed to keep their wits, though they were still surprised at my appearance. As they drew weapons, I dropped a paralysation glyph over them.

That caught them. I quickly drew Pickering's sword from the sheath on my back and my dagger from my hip. "Here," I snapped, pressing them into Pickering's hands. I took Spellfury from my other shoulder and readied it.

Alberto shook his head and collected himself first. Rather than draw a weapon, he shouted an alarm. Outside the door I could hear more shouts and running footsteps. I raised my staff and pointed it at him. With wide eyes and expecting horrible magic, he focused entirely on me, he missed the real danger.

Pickering's sword took him low in the belly. My comrade wrenched the wound larger and tore the blade out, spilling entrails onto the floor.

One brother down.

I blasted the pair of Crows behind us with lightning, setting them dancing and jerking, with no control over their bodies. That pare were not the most dangerous, but being attacked from all sides was a recipe for disaster. By clearing the enemies behind us, I could concentrate on one direction. "Finish them," I shouted, pointing at the twitching Crows.

Pickering didn't verbally respond, but he followed my direction quickly. I took stock of our position as he slit throats. The two of us were in a room with several Crows, but once Pickering had finished his grisly work, there was only a blank wall, some furniture and a pair of hanging prisoners behind us.

It was a precarious position, but not unrecoverable. I began casting one of the nastier curses I knew.

Suddenly, every Crow in the small room surged into action. Sal roared a challenge and drew his blades. So did three other Crows. Victor bolted for the door, screaming for help.

I dropped the curse on one of Sal's guards. Using such a powerful spell on a weaker target was a tactic that always confused Alistair. The spell was vicious, but it worked most effectively when cast on weaker opponents.

The victim stiffened slightly as the spell took effect, eating and dissolving his body from the inside.

Pickering met Sal's charge with his blades, but it was obvious the young spy was outmatched. The Crow swung, thrust and parried with sharp, precise moves. Each action forced Pickering to respond in a different way, causing his guard to move further out of alignment. From just a few seconds observation, it was clear to me that Sal was easily a match for someone of Zevran or Nathaniel's skill.

Trusting that Pickering could handle him for just a few moments, I sent a powerful bolt of arcane energy at my first victim. As my magic tore him apart from the outside, the curse ate him out from the inside. I judged the curse had almost run its course, and shot a shard of elemental rock at him, sending him flying away and into the Crows grouped at the door.

With a muted cry, he exploded in a shower of dark purple gore. While I'd seen it quite often before, the stench was not something you could get used to. Entrails smelled _horrible_.

The Crows, who had managed to recover from their shock and were mounting a descent offence, suddenly found themselves flattened by the horrific blast. Worse, they were now labouring under the same curse as their unfortunate comrade. This was not the clean, elemental magic of battle. This was the sort of malignant sorcery that was the stuff of nightmares. If any Crow escaped me today, I wanted them to piss themselves at the thought of fighting a mage.

The shockwave did not reach Sal, however, and the Crow had Pickering at his mercy. He stabbed down through Pickering's forearm with one short sword and forced the limb away, while he thrust low with the other.

Poor Pickering was stabbed in the belly, almost exactly as he had done to Alberto moments before. He fell back, landing on the floor, clutching at his stomach.

Clenching my teeth, I dropped a cage of force around Sal, crushing him. He screamed and screamed as the magical filaments constricted around him.

Unable to help Pickering directly, I dropped a vial of a potent healing concoction onto his lap, hoping against hope that it would be enough to keep him alive. Fortunately, only one other Crow was up and fighting in the room. Those outside were struggling enter the room through the doorway blocked by bodies writhing in agony as their organs dissolved.

Still, that wouldn't last long. I froze the last one and then conjured a magical glyph near the doorway. The imbued magic of the glowing inscription would repulse those who tried crossing it. One of Matthias' barrier spells would have been more effective, but I couldn't take the time it would take to cast it. But the makeshift 'barrier' glyph should buy me some time.

I looked down and cast a field healing spell at Pickering. The blood flow from the wound slowed, and then stopped as he drank the healing potion. He wouldn't be taking part in any more combat today, but he'd live.

Sal was still screaming in agony. I stuck the tip of Spellfury into his throat and blew his head off. That was very, very satisfying. And it was also the second brother accounted for.

The man I'd frozen shook the frost from his skin and backed away. "Crossbows!" he shouted.

"Shit," I said helpfully, and dropped a magical paralysation trap at his feet.

The resulting explosion blew me off my feet.

I sat up, blinking with a mild ringing in my ears. "Andraste's arsecheeks," I swore to no one in particular.

"Commander?" Pickering said, his voice week and reedy.

I leaned on Spellfury as I rose to my feet. The magical blast had shredded the Crows at the point of origin. I looked more closely.

The epicentre was my repulsion glyph.

Ah. I once told Fergus that I sometimes wondered what other weird and wonderful magical effects existed out there, waiting to be discovered by the unwary mage. Note to self - don't stand near a glyph of repulsion when a glyph of paralysation is cast on top. Addendum – take the very first opportunity to try it out on some other enemies to observe and document the effect, rather than experience it.

I shook my head and dropped another vial of portable healing on Pickering. "Drink that once the first has gone down," I said, probably a bit louder than usual. I still couldn't hear properly.

"Yes, Commander," he said, wincing at the pain in his stomach. "Sorry, I wasn't good enough to keep him from getting me."

"You did fine," I said. Through the open door, I saw Crows raise projectile weapons at us.

Without even taking the time to swear, I dove behind the chair Pickering had been shackled to as the first volley shot through the door. Fortunately, they targeted me alone, giving me time to drop a magical field of force around Pickering, a layer of protection that should last long enough for me to clear the crossbowmen.

Even crouched behind cover, I could position spells at a distance. As the bowmen argued among themselves as to which of them was going to approach the doorway for a clearer shot at me, I called forth a blizzard of ice and snow, placing the localised storm through the door in the next room.

Maker's breath, I loved my staff. The powerful enchantments along its length magnified my spellpower enormously. Screams and shouts echoed throughout the basement as the Crows afflicted by my spell froze solid.

With no arrows or bolts coming through the door, I felt it time to begin to advance through their ranks. I cast a couple of spells to boost my protection, causing my skin to harden and my body to fade slightly as it partially left this plane.

The next room was still in chaos, as my localised storm pelted assassins with ice and snow. The sound of doors slamming echoed down the corridors, giving me hope that all the people I needed to kill would come to me and save me the hassle of chasing them down.

I made sure the frozen Crows in the room were dead before moving on; backtracking along the path Pickering and I were dragged along just minutes ago.

A group of about eight men, including four who carried staffs, rounded the corner at the far end of the corridor. Of the mages, two of them wore robes, the other pair wearing nightclothes. They stopped advancing on catching sight of me. One gasped and screamed, "It's the Warden!"

I summoned my magical strength and began casting a spell. The four mages also began waving their hands through the prescribed motions of spell casting.

I was quicker. I thrust Spellfury towards the ceiling and flooded the area surrounding the four mages with an expanding ring of anti-mana. The mage-killing spell ripped their mana reserves from their souls, causing four truncated screams of agony, followed by four dull thumps of corpses hitting the floor.

The fact that one spell from me could drop four mages caused quite some discontent among the remaining Crows. I gave the ones who looked the most frightened a bright, cheery smile before calling down fire on their heads.

I'm not sure what freaked them out more; the ease with which I killed their mages or the happy grins I gave them afterwards.

* * *

><p>Being terrified of someone puts you at a serious disadvantage when fighting them. Ordinarily, it should have stretched my abilities to slaughter a nest of Antivan Crows by myself. But most were pissing themselves in terror by the time they caught sight of me, and didn't know how to fight a mage with no magical backup. An untenable situation.<p>

By the time the building had evacuated itself and my rampage was complete, I had twenty-one dead Crows, including Sal and Alberto. Victor had managed to escape. That was a bit of a bugger, but I reckoned that I could track him down easily enough.

Pickering was on his feet by the time I returned to the torture chamber. Oddly, he had somehow built up a bit of a rapport with Victor's three victims. Though they were Crows, they claimed to have voiced an objection to the open contract on me. I wasn't sure I believed them, but the story was reasonable.

I found it odd that Kylon and his men (who arrived with a trio of panicking templars who had sensed the vast expenditure of magic under the street) would have orders to let any Crow go. But Pickering somehow managed to ferret the three wounded Crows away from the law. I suppose as a spy, he had some leeway in how he conducted himself.

According to Pickering's new best friends, there had been twenty-nine Antivan Crows in that cell this morning. Well, thirty-two, if you included Lucius and the two Crows guarding the treasure room I killed the previous evening.

With twenty-one corpses and three torture victims accounted for, that left five escapees; one of whom was Victor.

I left the exasperated Captain Kylon with the headache of what to do with the uncovered nest of Crows. I found a private spot and shifted form. My mabari shape had excellent olfactory clarity, and I was soon able to locate Victor's scent. Fear tended to put an edge on your odour.

I trotted along his path, dodging the admiring pats and whistles from street kids. The attention didn't particularly bother me; I was an attractive bitch, after all.

Victor's path initially fled straight, but after a few blocks began to meander about. He backtracked a few times, and even cut a false path at one point. Had I been tracking him as an elf, I might have been fooled by the decoy path. Even a well trained hound might have had trouble. But when combined with a reasoning brain, the nose was more difficult to trick than the eyes.

As it was, his path led me to a place I should have guessed. I shifted into the form of a mouse, and ran along the same path I'd taken the evening before.

* * *

><p>"We need to join forces and kill her now!" Victor's voice echoed through the building. It seemed that recent events had shaken the bully. Enough to render his caution shot to pieces.<p>

Ignacio's soft tones were far more difficult to hear. "Oh? Why is that, Victor?"

There was a short spluttering sound of disbelief. "What? She just killed Alberto and Sal! She destroyed my father's house! She killed most of my Crows. All my mages. She will come for you too, you know."

I struggled through the last knothole and into Ignacio's rooms. He sat at a table across from the sadistic torturer. Two of the Crows who escaped the fire stood behind him, in front of two of Ignacio's own men.

The soft-spoken assassin sighed. "Three times now, the Crows have been approached to arrange an accident for the Warden. The first time, she somehow recruited the man sent. Odd, I thought, and very insulting. Second time, she killed the men sent to take care of both her and the traitor. So, there is an open contract on her. But every Crow who tries to kill her ends up dead. So I thought, Ignacio, you need to know more about this woman. How did she get so strong? Exactly how powerful is she? So, I cancel contract and try hiring her. It works, because she needs money for fighting the Blight. What sort of woman is she? I find out. What motivates her? I find out. What scares her? I find out."

"What are you blathering about?" Victor demanded.

Another soft sigh. "Victor, perhaps you should stop being Victor so much and start being Alberto a little more, yes? I find out more about the Warden so that I know what to do next time someone wants her to have a little accident, yes?"

"Fine," came the gruff response. "What did you find out?"

As Ignacio continued his exposition, I scurried into the far corner, deep in the shadows. I judged that I could transform back into my base form in a crouch and still be hidden from view.

"I find out that when the third person wants her to have an accident, it is a very good idea to let her know that someone wants her to have an accident. Do you know that the person who wanted her gone is dead? He lived in a tower on a lake surrounded by guards who controlled the only boat. And he is dead just weeks after asking me to have her killed. Coincidence? Perhaps so. But the Warden is not someone I want to be fighting, Victor. Soldiers who travelled with her say she uses spells big enough to destroy an army just to kill a few darkspawn."

Victor spat and cursed. "Bloody mages."

"Not just a mage, my friend. She does not react the way a normal person does. Loghain tries to kill her for a year, she recruits him into the Wardens. Your father annoys her, so she kills him. You and your brothers say, 'open contract', and she burns down your house and kills everyone inside. Victor, you need to know this. _She is insane_. And she is more powerful than you, or me. Maybe even all the Crows."

How sweet of him to say so.

Victor didn't seem to agree. "But-"

"No, Victor! No 'but'. It is simple, yes? Threaten her, you die. Threaten her friends, you die. Threaten her Wardens, you die. Threaten her country, you die." Ignacio's voice started increasing in both tempo and volume. "Archdemon, dead. Darkspawn, dead. Crows, dead. Rendon Howe, dead. Tevinter blood mages, dead. Orlesian bardmaster, dead. Dragon cultists, dead. Bandits, smugglers, bounty hunters, dead, dead, dead." Ignacio paused to regain his breath. Once composed, he continued in his usual dulcet tones. "And Lucius, he comes to me to say he has accepted the contract on the Warden. He says that Ignacio has made a mistake by saying no. And I say to him that he is a silly man. But he just looks at the gold and he smiles, and does not listen to Ignacio. And I say that he is a greedy man."

"My father did what he thought was best!" Victor exclaimed.

"Lucius did what Lucius thought best for Lucius - that is all. Your father, he takes gold and then sends only a few men to kill the Warden. Sends men with no mages and no templars. Does Lucius even know the Warden is a mage? He should, but it looks like he does not. Or perhaps he wanted his men to fail? Why? No, something is wrong, and now he is dead."

"So he didn't send enough of the right men. I get it."

"No, you do not. You do not understand even now. You send a man to kill the Warden; you have a dead man and a distracted Warden. You send ten men to kill the Warden; you have ten dead men and a very annoyed Warden. You send every man you have to kill the Warden; every man dies and the Warden comes and kills you too. She is too tricky and too ruthless and too unpredictable to kill in a fight. To kill her you need to be different – less like Sal and more like Alberto. You need to befriend her, get close to her, gain her trust and then slit her throat as she sleeps. No other way will work."

"Then we need to…"

"No, Victor. Lucius made a mistake by taking the contract. He threatened the Warden, and now he is dead. Perhaps we are all dead. Who knows? Depends on if the Warden will listen to reason."

Victor suddenly sounded hopeful. "Will she listen to you?"

Ignacio sighed, and I could hear the frustration etching his tone. It was like a school teacher unable to explain a simple concept to a student. "She listened to Ignacio before. Perhaps she will again. Perhaps not. But I think that it does not matter for you."

Victor paused, suddenly sounding very nervous. "Why?"

I could almost hear the vicious grin on Ignacio's face. "Because she needs you to be dead, Victor. Lucius takes contract, and Lucius is dead. You and Sal and Alberto put an open contract on her. So now she needs you dead. Crazy, yes, crazy like a fox. If she lets you live, then others can take contracts. But if she kills you, she makes sure everyone is much too scared to put a contract on her again. No one will."

The sadist scoffed at that. "The Crows won't stand for being threatened like this!" he declared, his voice wavering despite his bravado. "We do the threatening, not the other way around."

Once again, Ignacio gave a little sigh. "Yes, they will. And why? Because she shows she can kill Crow Masters, and this makes other Crow Masters a bit nervous, yes? Lucius had lots of guards. He dies. You and Sal and Alberto have lots of guards. You die too."

"I'm not dead yet!" he declared. "I can go back to Antiva and bring back more than enough men to kill one bitch."

Ignacio leaned back in his chair, apparently giving up on convincing him. "Enough men? How many? How many do you need since that if she wants, she will walk right past your guards and kill you in this room?"

I suppose that's my cue, as Leliana would say. As Victor derided that statement, I transformed back in a crouch and dropped a paralysation glyph on the group. As one, they stiffened.

I rose and stepped out of the shadows. Without a word, I walked over to Victor and drew my dagger. I pressed the needle-sharp point into the side of his neck and opened the artery there with a delicate flick.

From the rapid squirting, his heart was absolutely racing. Blood arced across the room in short, powerful pulses. Victor's eyes revealed fright and disbelief as the life behind them faded.

And that was the last brother. It's so satisfying to finish something.

I turned to face Victor's guards. I recognised both of them as being from the dungeon beneath Lucius' house. Torturers who deserved no mercy, and should be killed in as graphic a manner as possible. I raised my hands and froze them in place, then shattered their bodies with different spells.

"I have a special loathing for torturers," I said easily, as frozen crimson shards clattered around the room. Ignacio was going to have a pretty big clean-up bill. I stood still, staring at Ignacio until the spell holding the Crows in place ran its course.

Victor was still not quite dead, and he clutched at his throat, vainly trying to stem the flow. He babbled something about gold, but I didn't bother listening.

Ignacio swallowed, but did not move except to signal his guards to stay put. "I was expecting you, Warden. Just not quite so soon."

I turned to the guards in question, who looked as though they were about to wet themselves. As slowly and as clearly as I could, I said, "Get. Out."

They bolted, colliding in the doorway in their haste to depart. Once the door had slammed shut, I spent a few moments erecting a barrier across the whole room rather than just the doorway. It was one of Matthias' spells; cancelling out sound as well as preventing passage. Ignacio and I could speak without anyone overhearing.

"Obviously you were not expecting me," I said with a snarl. "Unless you are in the habit of blurting out how you plan to kill people when they're in the room."

He winced. "An intellectual exercise onl-"

"Save it," I snapped. "There is only one reason there are any Crows left alive in Denerim today, and that's because Alistair and Anora both think that it is better knowing who you are. Eamon wants you all gone, and after listening to you describe how you'd kill me, I'm inclined to agree."

He swallowed, proving himself bright enough not to object. "I see."

"But, I am a loyal subject of the crown." I paused, thinking a bit before clarifying, "At least, I am when it doesn't inconvenience me too much. And so here you are - foreign assassin under the protection of the Ferelden crown." I looked down at Victor, who was burbling and thrashing about on the expensive carpet. "Do shut up, man, I'm trying to have a conversation here."

Ignacio tilted his head to one side. "Fate has a sense of humour, it seems."

I hummed a sound that could be taken for agreement. "So, this is how it's going to be. Once we finish our little chat, I will walk out of here, and you get to continue pretending that you're an Antivan merchant with an unhealthy fascination with fatal accidents."

The Crow Master frowned. "I don't understand."

I grinned nastily at him. "You get to live, and even continue to conduct your business, but there is a price for your ongoing existence. If you so much as hear a rumour of anyone attempting the life of Alistair, Anora, Eamon or their families, you go to Eamon. Send an assassin as a messenger who will 'get caught', if you need to maintain the fiction that you're trying to kill them."

Ignacio drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I see. That cannot be all, however."

"It is not," I confirmed. "A couple of people are going to apply to join the Crows in the coming weeks and months. Take them in and train them. If they need to disappear for a while every so often, you'll look the other way."

"Wardens, I take it?"

"Not your concern. Just know that they will not turn on you. Eamon is unlikely to ever accept the idea that your services are useful, but Anora is a lot more pragmatic. She will probably employ you on occasion."

He slowly reached up and rubbed his chin. "Is there any room for negotiation?"

I stared at him in silence.

He got the point. "Not that anything needs to be negotiated. It all sounds very fair."

"It is. Very fair. One last thing. I will need the services of a couple of your assassins at Vigil's Keep for a few months. Have them ready to leave with me in a week or so. Volunteers only, mind you; and I guarantee their safety. They will be well remunerated for their time."

I got a nod, but his expression indicated that he wasn't expecting to receive too many applicants. "Is there a reason the list of protected clients does not extend to yourself?" he asked with care.

I let the most insane grin I could muster grow on my lips. "If the Crows decide to take another contract on me or any other Fereldan Grey Warden, I. Will. _**Burn**_. You." I leaned forward, staring straight into the assassin's eyes. "I will burn your heart out of your chest, Ignacio. I will rip your skin off and use it to wipe my dog's arse. I will turn every Crow in Ferelden to charcoal. I will take ship and destroy every cell I find on my way to Antiva. And I will burn that whole country to ashes to get every last one of you."

Ignacio's calm, business expression suddenly looked a little fragile.

I leaned back, and continued in a friendly tone. "So, by all means, take a contract on me. Take one on any of my Wardens. Maker, take one on my dog, if it pleases you. I won't give you any warning. Or mercy. Or show any restraint. And at the end, the Antivan Crows will be nothing but a memory."

Again, he swallowed, but gave a small nod. "I understand."

"Good."

* * *

><p>I snuck back into the palace, trying to avoid the shit-storm my actions had kicked up. I stopped by the infirmary, looking for Pickering. I wanted to make sure he was all right; battlefield healing and elfroot-salves, even the incredibly potent ones I made, were no substitute for competent healing.<p>

Pickering wasn't there, but an old acquaintance of mine was, gliding between the occupied beds. "Petra?" I almost gasped.

Petra looked up at me, and gave me a chilly nod of greeting. "Warden Kathryn."

Her tone made me pause. "You're out of the Circle! I didn't know that Alistair requested a mage for the palace."

"_His Majesty_," she replied, emphasising his title, "was kind enough to offer employment to any mage with healing talents."

I looked around. "Did you examine a young man by the name of Pickering? He'd been wounded in the stoma-"

"Yes," she snapped. "And you don't need to bother checking up on him. I've made sure your superficial healing efforts were corrected."

I frowned. Even Wynne hadn't been so abrupt with me. Well, except for that time in the forest, but she deserved what I'd said to her. "What's the matter?" I asked.

She glared at me. "For two months, I've been living here, helping people. Some of them are terrified of mages, and it takes a long time to convince them that we're not monsters. And then you turn up, and all of a sudden everyone is scared again!"

I just shook my head, turned and left. I was tired, hungry and exhausted. Getting into an argument would not help matters.

And besides, she was right. I was scary. I'd long since come to terms with that.

* * *

><p>It was mid-morning by the time I got back to my quarters. The place was in an uproar. More than one person took one look at me as I wandered along the palace corridors and gasped in shock.<p>

A guard had been stationed near the door to my quarters. She saluted my approach and told me, "Commander, the Teyrn of Highever is within."

I nodded and entered, noting that Fergus was sitting at the desk. He rose to his feet at my entrance. His face was etched with fatigue, but he seemed relaxed.

I nodded to the guard. "Thank you. That will be all."

She nodded, saluted to us both, and left.

Fergus stepped forward, looking me over. "Kathryn," he greeted me. "I hear you've had a busy night."

I covered my mouth and fought back a yawn. "It has been eventful, I'll admit. Why are you here? I thought you were planning on overseeing the final furnishings at Highever House."

He pursed his lips. "Yes, well, I heard a terrible rumour that you'd been assassinated in the middle of the night. My valet felt that I needed to hear the news immediately, and woke me in the early hours of the morning."

I blinked. "Ah," was all I could think of to say. I hadn't thought about how people apart from the Crows would react to the news of my death.

"Ah indeed," he repeated dryly. He turned and poured a cup of tea, and carefully set the cup in front of one of the chairs. "As unlikely as the news sounded, I decided to come to the palace to check its veracity. Here, drink this. I found it in a cupboard at Highever House."

"That's nice of you," I replied, accepting the cup. "Thank you. I really need this." He nodded, and we sat down. I took a sip. The tea was heavenly. "What is this?" I asked.

"Highever Honeygrass. It was my mother's favourite."

I took another sip of the hot, delicate liquid. "It's delicious."

"Thank you. Now tell me Kathryn, why in the Maker's name would you start rumours of your death?"

I sighed, placing the cup back on the table. "I went to see a man about why the Crows took a contract out on me. Using information he gave, I found the Crows that took the money. A little bit of unpleasantness later and the survivors spread the word that they'd pay anyone who managed to kill me."

He pursed his lips together disapprovingly. "But why did you create such an elaborate scene?"

I rubbed at my eyes, keenly feeling the long, long day. "Because I wanted the remaining leaders to be starved for information. If details were scarce, and someone appeared telling them that he'd killed me, then the leaders would all come to him to get the full story. Once assembled, I'd step out and take care of them."

He frowned a bit at my weary rambling. I probably wasn't making much sense. "I think I see. It explains some other things."

"Explains what?" I asked.

"The _other_ rumours I heard."

I stared at him, but he was having far too much fun at my expense to simply give in. "Fine, I give up. What were they?"

He grinned. "Well, I've already told you the first one. That you were murdered in the palace."

I took another sip. "And the other rumours?" I prompted.

"One was that being killed annoyed you so much that you went looking for revenge. There were many others, but mostly variations on that theme."

I pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to think through the fog of fatigue. "I'm not really functioning at my best right now, but I'd say that there's a logical fallacy or three somewhere in there."

He chuckled softly once again, clearly enjoying the conversation. "Yes. Although, I certainly wouldn't put it past you."

I grimaced. "You're vastly over-estimating my abilities."

He sipped at his own tea. "Possibly. Would you care to explain exactly what happened last night? I mean, I left you here in your rooms a few hours after dusk. Did you just decide that you were so bored that you needed to go out assassin hunting?"

I frowned. "I just told you."

"No, I want the details. I know a bit more about the Antivan Crows than most Fereldan citizens. My first wife was from an Antivan merchant family. I'd like to know how much trouble you're in."

I blinked. "Ah. Okay, I went to confront the Antivan Crow Master I knew during the Blight about the assassination attempt back at the Vigil."

Fergus raised his eyebrows. "And?"

"And he claimed that he was approached by a representative of Knight-Commander Tavish."

Fergus all but leapt from his chair. "Tavish?!"

I nodded. "Yes, but he also claimed that he turned the contract down. And that he sent me a message about the approach."

"Did you get the message?"

I shook my head. "No, and I've no proof that he sent it. But a few weeks later, Tavish fell down a flight of stairs, so look at it from his perspective. He believed I got his message and acted in my usual, predictable manner."

Fergus seemed to consider that for a moment. "Okay. I can see his point."

I couldn't help but smile. "Yes. Well, Tavish's man wouldn't take no for an answer, and approached the other Crow Master in Denerim, who did take the contract. After leaving my old friend, I went and had a chat with that one, confirmed all the details, and killed him."

"Of course you did," Fergus sighed, channelling Alistair quite nicely.

"His sons got annoyed, and put out an open contract on me. One of Alistair's spies found out, and warned me. We planned a bit, then went and killed nearly all the Crows in that cell."

Fergus stared at me. "Anyone else and I'd think you were lying. You? I think you're keeping some of the more unbelievable facts from me." He shook his head. "You know, my first wife's family were closely allied with a cell of the Crows. Aren't you at all concerned about reprisals?"

I shook my head. "Not really. The remaining Crows in Ferelden are all terrified of me now. And I went back to the first Crow Master and told him that if another contract was taken out on me or my Wardens, I'd burn Antiva to the ground to get them all."

"You can do that?" he gasped, suddenly pasty-faced.

"Of course not!" I retorted. "But he doesn't know that. So that's that. I've spent the night killing assassins, and I'm really tired, so I'd like to have a nap, if you don't mind."

He frowned. "There are more polite ways of requesting a guest leave, Kathryn," he said, radiating disapproval.

I waved that away. "Blame it on my upbringing."

He didn't like that, but rose to his feet. "Would you at least do me a favour?"

"What's that?"

"Warn me before you go on another murdering rampage? I was quite worried about you."

"You'd probably tell your brother, and he'd just want to join in and take all my fun."

He shook his head, but I could see the ghost of a smile on his lips. "Get some rest, Kathryn."

o_ooo000ooo_o

AN: Thanks to my reviewers – MemoriesoftheForgottenGuardi an, Pintsizedpsycho, Nightbrainzz, hopelessromantic34, MB18932, Arsinoe de Blassenville, Alifangirl21, Hydroplatypus, CunderJenn and Ie-maru.

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	23. Alienating allies, and other cool skills

disclaimer type=standard

Anything you recognise is Bioware's. I daresay anything else belongs to them too.

/disclaimer

o_ooo000ooo_o

Cassandra frowned at the implication. "Your allies did not trust you?"

The Warden winced. "Not really. Oh, they were quite happy to take advantage of the benefits I'd scored for them, but for the most part, no, I was like the uninvited guest at the party."

That intrigued the Seeker. Almost without exception, those counted friends by Kathryn Surana held a loyalty to her that rivaled the most fanatical priest held for the Chantry. Perhaps this was the path to convincing her. "Your allies do not appreciate you, then?"

A shrug. "Some do. Some don't. It doesn't bother me."

"No? Really?"

Kathryn shook her head. "Nope. I've long since come to the realisation that someone like me is never going to fit into anything remotely like civilised life. I'm more the kind of person you keep out of sight until the shit-storm commences. Then you let me out, point me in the right direction, and duck behind something until the screaming stop."

To her horror, Cassandra felt her lips quiver in amusement. "Quite," she said, trying to cover the loss of discipline.

The Warden spread her hands. "Consider this. The Maker may have turned his back upon us, but that isn't to say that he has no desire to see us redeem ourselves. Is it providence or coincidence that just when Thedas is to be challenged by a Blight someone like me turns up?"

"Someone like you?"

"Yes, someone like me. As much as I believe that magic is a gift of the Maker rather than a curse, my talents do not lend themselves well to peacetime pursuits. You don't need a mage like Anders or Daylen to face an archdemon. You need someone like me."

Cassandra nodded. "And once the archdemon was defeated, you should have been put away, out of sight?"

Kathryn grunted. "I might have preferred it. I was obliged to preside over petty squabbles and neighbours bickering with each other over a strip of land a couple of inches wide; not because I was good at it, but because I was the Arlessa." She tapped her chin. "You know, I suppose one good thing came from my abduction. It forced Nathaniel to assume control of the Grey Wardens. He performed immeasurably better than I as Commander."

That was not in question, Cassandra knew. Nathaniel Howe was as capable a man with a blade as he was with a sheaf of paper. He offended many, many people by refusing outright to accept the rank of Warden-Commander, instead insisting on being called Interim-Commander. "What immediate impact did your destruction of the Antivan Crows in Denerim have on your standing?"

The elf shrugged. "Mostly negative. Some people I'd helped in the past began to wonder if I should be reined in. Fergus helped immeasurably to ease the impact."

o_ooo000ooo_o

I slept for several hours until Thunder's excited barking woke me. "Get up, Kat."

"Sod off," I replied indistinctly from under the pillow.

Alistair ripped off the blankets. "Come on, get up. If you sleep too long now, you won't get to sleep tonight."

I peeked out from under the pillow. "Why do you care?"

He grinned at me, completely unrepentant. "Because I need a sparing partner, and you've volunteered."

I grumbled as the relatively cool air of the room gave me gooseflesh. "Who volunteered me?" I demanded.

"I did."

I glared at him. "Right then. Sparring, is it? Well then, let's go," I said, letting the unspoken threat hang in the air.

* * *

><p>"Come on, grab a sword."<p>

I glared at him. "You're kidding, right?"

He gave me the grin that I fell for. "Nope. Come on, you haven't had a decent workout for ages."

"I killed two dozen assassins just last night," I objected. "Which, I might point out, is more than you've managed in the last twenty-four hours."

"Yeah, but with magic. Come on, Kat. Grab a sword."

I sighed deeply, but he was quite right. I hadn't really fought with a blade in weeks. I moved over to the racks and selected a thin-bladed longsword, roughly the same length and weight as Spellweaver. The weapon was designed for practice – its balance was too far off to be efficient in actual combat. Your arm would just about drop off with all the extra effort you'd need to use.

Alistair selected a sword off another rack; a poor substitute for Starfang. Still, for bashing away at each other it was adequate.

"Ready?" he asked.

I took my time, casting a couple of spells that hardened my skin and shielded me from physical punishment. I knew first hand how much better it was to protect yourself against accidental strikes during sparring matches as opposed to healing yourself afterwards. I was still a bit put out by his high-handed treatment, but assumed the stance he'd originally shown me when I'd first started using a sword. "Go on then."

We both raised our blades to in front of our faces in salute, and then attacked.

As a sparring partner, Alistair was very courteous. He stood more than a foot taller than me, and his shoulders were almost twice my own width. He weighed more than double, and had far more experience with melee weapons that I ever would.

But these sessions were never about establishing dominance. They were for practise, for testing new combinations. For exercise.

For fun.

I swung, trust, parried and blocked. The ancient Dalish warrior-mage magic I'd learned channelled my magic through my body as physical strength, which enabled me to match, if not exceed him, in at least one area of a physical contest. Still, strength counted for less than you might think in a test of martial skill.

In minutes I was perspiring. The warm sunshine that I'd enjoyed earlier gradually became a little uncomfortable. My arm began to tire, and my fringe started sticking to my forehead, but the contest dragged on.

"You've improved," he said jovially, proving that despite his duties as king, he still made time to keep in physical shape. Either that or my efforts weren't enough to get him even mildly out of breath.

"For what it's worth," I retorted around my heavy breathing.

"Don't be like that! This is good for you."

I snorted at that. "Alistair, the big stick I carry around can blow the head off a darkspawn at a hundred paces." I paused to catch my breath. "Anything I can't take on with it isn't likely to be bothered by a three feet of sharpened silverite."

He laughed, clear and loud. "Maker, I've missed you, Kat."

I winced at that. "Is that why you've been hitting me with monotonous regularity today?" I asked, rolling my shoulder in an effort to regain feeling in my arm. "To make up for it?"

"No, that's just for fun."

I poked my tongue out at him.

He crossed his eyes at me.

We both burst out laughing. As our blades struck out at each other, I could feel the tension and stress of the past months slipping away. Focusing entirely on sparring was cathartic.

"I understand that Fergus told you about the odd rumours?" he said, executing a combination overhand strike followed by an underhand sweep.

"About me deciding to avenge my own murder? Yes. Sodding idiots."

He smirked at me. "Why idiots?"

I gave him an incredulous look. "Who'd believe something so patently wrong?"

He shrugged, easily blocking what I thought was quite a cunning move. It had blinded that templar idiot a few months ago. "There were some extenuating circumstances."

This I had to hear. "Like what? What could possibly justify believing that I'd risen from the dead?"

His grin morphed from amused to manic. "Because you did."

"I did not!"

"Not you," he clarified. "Shianni got fed up with lying on an uncomfortable cold stone bier under a veil. We probably should have given her a pillow or something. She just suddenly swore like a pirate, sat up and declared to the horrified witnesses that she'd had enough. She then promptly swung her legs off the bier, and stormed out."

I imagined the scene in my mind. "Ah."

"Ah indeed," he said, mimicking my voice. "One of Eamon's agents, who had been guarding your 'corpse', improvised and declared that you were obviously going to extract revenge for your murder. Thus, the rumours."

"The first person to claim that I'm Andraste reborn is getting an electrical enema."

He paled slightly. "Right. I'll… er… right."

I redoubled my efforts in trying to even score a hit on him.

"Kylon gave me his report on the Crow's nest a few hours ago," he said after a few minutes of silent and blissful, if energetic, activity.

"Really?" I panted, trying a combination I'd seen Nate use. Alistair easily picked it off, but I had him on the defensive for a moment. "What was the result?"

"The really valuable stuff was the documentation."

"You mean… ledgers and the like?"

He grinned. "Those too. But more like letters and other incriminating papers, held as blackmail or extortion material."

I snickered at the potential for havoc. "Does anyone we know feature prominently?"

"A couple," he replied. "Isolde has been a bit indiscrete in her letters back to Orlais, relating both harmless gossip and state secrets. It's put Eamon in a difficult position. Ceorlic isn't likely to enjoy the next landsmeet. And quite a few nobles are going to have to have explanations ready for my tax collectors."

"Good for you," I said, wiping damp hair away from my eyes.

"Speaking of…" he started, sounding apologetic. "I'm going to have to take some of the proceeds from last night. Running a country is expensive."

I raised an eyebrow. "You consider that money to be taxable income from my lands?"

He gave me a shrug. "As proceeds from criminal activity, technically I can confiscate the lot."

"Not if it's proceeds of war," I objected.

He winced. "Come on, Kat. My treasury is almost gutted, and raising taxes on what little trade is happening will slow the recovery. I need some of that money."

"You need to stop spending it all on stuff that doesn't return the investment."

His face darkened at that. "Maker's breath, the city was nearly destroyed because of the shoddy fortifications!"

I raised my off hand and sent a tiny zap of lightning at him, making him jump. Over his offended expression I said, "I don't mean that you should just _stop_ spending on defence! But putting some investment into upgrading your highways would help trade move more quickly." As much as I could barely stand Woolsey, she knew her stuff, and I was determined to learn what I could from her.

He grunted, slapping my blade to one side and stabbing down at my thighs, I danced out of the way. "Eamon has suggested much the same thing."

I made a face. "Thank you so much for making me side with Eamon. I may never forgive you."

He actually cracked a smile at that. "If you were really so hard up for money, you wouldn't have left so much behind after your little rampage."

I raised my eyebrows at that. "I left some behind?"

He chuckled. "Mostly in the pockets of the corpses, but yes. You emptied their main vault, but there was another smaller one. Pickering thinks that it was used for operating the cell."

I nodded. "Pickering is a good man."

"He is," Alistair agreed. "I'd like you to take him with you when you go back to Vigil's Keep."

I stopped swinging and stepped back. He lowered his sword and looked at me questioningly. "You wouldn't want me to recruit him," I said, a statement rather than a question. "So you must want me to train him."

His face split into a wide grin. "Exactly! He's quite capable where knees to the groin and thumbs in the eye are acceptable tactics, but he needs some more experience in classical and formal combat. I don't know of anyone better equipped to give it."

"The army?" I offered.

He rolled his eyes. "I don't need a parade ground soldier or a vanguard warrior. I need someone who can defend themselves equally well in an alley against a thug with a brick and in a duel against a knight with a sword. It's not your teaching ability that I'm after; it's your talent for attracting diverse, unwanted attention."

With a mock snarl, I thrust my sword forward, which he easily parried. Once again, we settled into a routine of flashing blades. "Attract unwanted attention, do I?"

"Don't act all offended, you know it's true."

I huffed, something that was easy to do, given my panting. "I'm doing my damnedest to thin the numbers of people trying to kill me, Alistair."

"Then feel free to use all the help available," he replied reasonably.

I grunted at one nasty blow to my hip. "You're sounding more like Anora these days."

He gave me a hurt expression. "Now you're just being nasty."

For the rest of the session, I managed to score a hit or two on him, or more likely he allowed me to take some face-saving points. It didn't come close to the number of whacks he gave me when my defense dropped. But after perhaps half an hour of friendly sparring, we called a halt.

"Feel better?" he asked me.

"Much," I grudgingly admitted. "For a king, you make a great whacking post."

He laughed at my quip, replacing his sword. "Good. I need you in a better mood."

That sounded ominous. "Oh?"

He reached out and placed an arm around my shoulder, hugging me close. In a low whisper, he said, "I got a response from the Wardens about the talking darkspawn."

I blinked. "You did? Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because she just arrived today while you were asleep."

"She?"

* * *

><p>'She' turned out to be a Grey Warden mage. An elven, Orlesian, Grey Warden mage at that. But the instant her eyes met mine I just knew there would be no friendly camaraderie between us. There would be no polite greeting; not even an impolite greeting.<p>

Alistair had organised for the three of us to be left alone in one of the large sitting rooms in the palace, with no guards around within earshot. Three comfortable armchairs were arrayed around a fireplace, for all use the flickering flames were.

Fiona sat down opposite me, icy disapproval still radiating from her like a roaring blizzard. I ignored the frosty gaze and simply examined her, trying to get a feel for the kind of woman she was.

Her hair was still dark, though it was much less thick and lustrous than was usual for a younger elf. The network of fine wrinkles that lined the skin beside her eyes and the edges of her mouth made me estimate her age at close to forty. Her eyes were hard, and held a history of pain and suffering.

Hardly unique among female elvish mages, then.

"Warden-Commander," she said stiffly. "The First Warden instructed me to brief you on operational matters regarding the Grey Wardens."

"No he didn't," I snorted.

Her head jerked back, as though I'd slapped her. "I beg your pardon?" she demanded.

"Woah, déjà vu," I murmured, touching my forehead lightly with the fingertips from one hand. "That's not the first time an arrogant Orlesian – sorry, repeating myself there – has said those words to me in that accent."

Alistair groaned.

She glared at me. "I see the reports of your attitude are perfectly accurate," she sniffed.

I snorted back at her. "Obviously not, if you think that I'd be insulted by that. Look, let's not beat around the bush. The First Warden has told you to do no such thing," I said, slower and more clearly; as though to a small child. "Helmut gave me an 'operational briefing' when he came to claim the archdemon blood. No, you're here because of my request for information on the talking darkspawn." She glared at me, but I ignored it and just kept on speaking. "I am quite capable of pretending to follow whatever fiction you deem necessary if all this stuff is secret, but don't ever make the mistake of thinking that I'm stupid."

Alistair coughed. "Um, I'm sure Fiona doesn't think that you're stupid, Kat."

"I can speak for myself, King Alistair. And I'm afraid that I must disagree. Warden Kathryn appears to have made some unwarranted assumptions." She raised her nose at me. "She is very much mistaken."

I rolled my eyes. "And I see the idiocy and arrogance of the Grey Warden hierarchy is well represented here. Look, Loghain and I ended the Blight and we heard nothing but platitudes for several months afterwards. I send a letter demanding to know everything the Wardens know about talking darkspawn and a few weeks later you pop up. Subtle, you're not."

"Wow," Alistair said, shaking his head. "Less than a minute. Well done, Kat. It takes quite a bit of skill to alienate an ally so quickly."

Despite how his words hurt, I just glared at Fiona. "Well? Tell me I'm wrong then. Tell me that you are not here to give me information on the speaking darkspawn. Tell me that you know nothing of them. Tell me that you believe that I'm making it up."

Fiona swallowed. "Very well. Yes, the Grey Wardens are aware of the existence of sentient, speaking darkspawn. They are exceedingly dangerous and unpredictable."

I frowned. "Not all of them. Not even most of them."

She glared at me again. "Do not contradict me," she demanded, obviously used to a bit more respect from others.

I rolled my eyes. This was getting tedious. "Right, because my direct experience with talking darkspawn that completely contradicts your statement is not justification for thinking you don't know what you're talking about. Sorry."

"Kat," Alistair almost whined.

"What direct experience?" Fiona demanded. "King Alistair's missive describes your encounter with exactly one speaking darkspawn at your Keep. And you reportedly killed it rather than converse with it. But we have no further reports from you."

I shrugged. "Well, no, probably not. When you have to give up on sleep and specifically schedule time out of your day to scratch yourself, things like reports don't tend to get done on time. I encoded and sent the most recent reports off to Weisshaupt a few weeks ago. You probably passed them on your way here."

She rubbed her forehead in frustration. "Answer the question. What direct experience?"

I didn't answer her immediately; choosing to think carefully about my answer. She had already shown that she had no qualms about letting her opinion of me colour her tone. "How about you answer one of mine first? Why you? Why were you sent?"

Wow. Not even Wynne could produce such an offended expression.

Alistair took a deep breath and raised his voice in a half-shout, "Both of you, stop it! This is ridiculous. Kat, Fiona was sent because she has actually met one of the talking darkspawn – one that called itself the Architect. Now, please, answer her question."

I raised my eyebrows at that. "You met the Architect? Where? And when?"

Fiona sighed and leaned back in her chair, suddenly looking very pensive. "I see that name is familiar to you. We expected that it would make another appearance, but not so soon after the Blight. I take it that you encountered it in your demesne?"

I nodded slowly. "Yes." Alistair's expression turned to one of shock at that revelation. I hadn't yet briefed him on recent Warden-related events in my arling. "But we encountered several of its disciples too. Darkspawn which it had given the power of thought and speech."

That caught her attention. "How many of these disciples has it made?"

I mentally tallied the encounters. The first one at Vigil's Keep. The pair at Kal'Hirol. The one called the First in Blackmarsh. The one who warned us about the attack on Vigil's Keep. The pair we encountered in Amaranthine, when Velanna got her new staff. The handful in the Mother's den. The one leading the siege on Vigil's Keep that Nate took down with his arrows. "I'm not entirely certain. A dozen, perhaps? We've killed about that many, if I haven't missed any. Not all of them were loyal to the Architect, however."

"What?" she demanded.

It was beginning to sound like the Grey Warden's expert on talking darkspawn was almost as much in the dark as I was. "The Architect performed the ritual that bestows sentience on a broodmother. He used Grey Warden blood in a perverted version of the Joining Ritual. She went off the rails and managed to poach some of the Architect's disciples to her own banner. Can I just say that, as a totally unrelated matter, a civil war among your enemies is something to pray to the Maker for?"

Fiona leaned forward. "The First Warden had hoped that you would not encounter the Architect. Despite your accomplishments, you are still just a young woman, not even two decades old."

Alistair's eyes widened, and leaned out of Fiona's peripheral vision and waved both hands at me frantically. I took a deep breath and sighed; he wouldn't want me to burn the bitch with magic, so I'd just have to do it with words instead.

"Oh, that's very true. It's so nice to once more have an extremely mature role model with long decades of life experience to guide my footsteps. Who knows what trouble I would get into without such a matronly figure to look up to?"

Alistair slapped a hand to his face.

Fiona scowled at me. "Very well. If that is the way you wish to play this, so be it. Your orders from the First Warden are as follows. Leave the Architect be. Do not attempt to confront it. Do not attempt to converse with it."

Oh, this was going to be fun. "Oh? Is it not a darkspawn within the borders of Ferelden? I am duty bound to attempt to kill any such beings on sight," I objected, putting a fake, eager tone in my voice.

The older mage actually sneered at me. "You would not stand a chance. I have witnessed this creature's power first hand. You are to report every piece of intelligence you have on the creature; its location, its allies, the extent of its movements. I have been authorised to assemble a capable squad of experienced Grey Wardens from all over Thedas, tasked with the elimination of the Architect."

I gave her a wide smile. "How many Wardens do you plan to include in your force?"

"That is not your concern," she retorted.

I waved a hand in lazy circles. "Just in rough terms – so that I can ensure there will be enough rooms to billet them all while they are accepting my hospitality."

Elven eyes narrowed suspiciously, but she answered. "I suspect at least twenty, but no more than thirty."

"That many?" I mused rhetorically, tapping on my chin with a finger. "Will any of _my_ Wardens be included in this _elite force_?"

She rolled her eyes. "Do not be absurd. Even _the most experienced Fereldan Grey Warden_ Joined a little less than three years ago."

The way she emphasised the words struck me as odd for a moment, before I realised that she was referring to Alistair. I filed that statement away for use later, when I would excoriate her for how wrong she was about so many things. "I take it that you do not believe that Grey Wardens with less than a few years' experience are capable of facing down a powerful darkspawn then?" I asked mildly.

She was quick enough to catch my meaning. "I do not dispute that you managed to kill the archdemon. But whatever stories you have told yourself, luck played a great deal in your success."

"Ladies," Alistair whined.

We ignored him. "You just can't admit it, can you? Alistair and I managed to raise armies, prevent a brewing civil war from erupting, and end the Blight while the rest of the Grey Wardens of Thedas sat on the sidelines, tutting their tongues and pointing out what happens to countries when their tithes aren't paid."

She sneered at me. "I find myself pleasantly surprised that you would deign to share accomplishments with anyone else," she spat.

"What are you talking about? I've never claimed that I defeated the Blight alone!"

Fiona pointed at me, the digit trembling. "You assumed command, in defiance of all protocol."

I glanced between her and Alistair. "Is that what's got your smalls in a twist? That I took command? Andraste's arse, you're an idiot."

"How dare you?" she screeched.

I touched a hand to my forehead, warding off the oncoming headache. She and Isolde not only had similar grating voices, but vocabulary as well. Velanna's screeching could leave both of them for dead, but at least she didn't have that thrice-damned, eternally-annoying Orlesian accent. "Is it an Orlesian thing to take offence at everything, or just when you're wrong? Either way, you. Are. An. Idiot." I pointed at Alistair. "He had no desire to lead. Nor any aptitude, at the time. Go on, ask him. If I insisted that he lead our little band of misfits, we'd probably still be wandering around in the Wilds looking for a clue."

Alistair winced, but reached out and laid a gentle hand on Fiona's forearm. "She's right. I had no desire to be in charge. Even now, being in command makes me uncomfortable."

Fiona blinked at him. "But you are m-Maric's son!" she blurted.

He grimaced. "Yes, Maric was my father. But I wasn't raised to lead. I grew up sleeping in a stable. Everyone knew I was a bastard, and after Eamon married Isolde, emotions ran high about me. Mostly because of the rumours that I was _Eamon's_ bastard. He shipped me off to the Chantry to be educated."

Fiona's colour faded. "You- you slept in a stable?" she gasped softly.

Alistair nodded, his signature, self-deprecating grin firmly in place. "Hey, it was nice and warm. And the other stable hands didn't bully me too much. A lot of people have it worse."

I stared closely at Fiona's expression. She was genuinely shocked, but there was something there that seemed out of place. Her reaction had been beyond what you'd expect from a disinterested party. I decided to add a little more detail to gauge her reaction. "Eamon chose to raise Alistair that way to ensure he had no ambition for his brother's throne. Perhaps he was punishing Maric for the insult to Rowan. Perhaps he just had no idea how to raise a child. But the end result was someone who literally had to be forced to assume command."

"But I… I had expected that the son of King Maric would be raised in comfort," she said, an odd hitch in her voice.

"Oh, the stable was comfortable," Alistair agreed with a happy nod. "The straw was nice and dry, the loft warm and safe. The air could get a bit close at times, especially if one of the horses took ill, but you can't have everything."

Fiona's face was a study. There was something there that was personal, but what? "So what has Alistair being Maric's son got to do with you being annoyed at me?" I asked, probing at the weakness.

She snapped her head back around to face me. "I never said that!"

"Not directly," I pointed out. "But you brought up Alistair's parentage when I said he had no desire to lead. So clearly that fact is of some considerable important to you. So, I ask again, what is it about his father that makes you annoyed with me?"

She glared at me in silence.

I leaned forward. "All right, fine. If you want to keep being pissy at me, how about you explain how we should have followed a protocol neither of us knew existed? Or would you prefer to hold onto this idiotic grudge in the face of all logic. Feel free, but I'll consider everything else you say with the same value as I'd pay a drooling imbecile."

"I am not an imbecile," she declared hotly.

I rolled my eyes. "I didn't say you were, though the more you speak the less doubt I have."

"Kathryn!" Alistair chided.

"What?" I demanded. "She's got a chip on her shoulder because I did what needed to be done. Given our order's motto, the reason has to be personal."

"Enough!" Fiona said, slapping the arm of her chair. "I no longer wish to discuss this."

I leaned back in my chair with a scowl on my face. "Well what do you wish to discuss? The Architect? You keep saying that I can't deal with him, but you've not explained why you and your elite team are any better equipped."

"As I have said, I have faced him before."

"When?" I asked insistently. "Where?"

She sighed deeply, looking as though she really didn't want to relate the story. "A long time ago. I had not been a Grey Warden for very long. Less than a year. Our party ventured into the Deep Roads to rescue a Grey Warden captured by darkspawn."

I felt my heart thump. "Rescue a… Maric. It was Maric who led you. You were on the expedition to rescue," I paused, thinking back to Loghain's rant one night when I'd asked him to describe Maric. "Bragin? Bregin?"

Fiona's eyes widened slightly. "Bregan. Commander Genevieve's brother."

Suddenly, her attitude to me and her protectiveness of Alistair made a bit more sense. "Maric was your friend," I deduced. "The two of you fought together; side by side. That sort of history forms bonds of friendship stronger than just about anything. That's why you're so pissed at me for taking command from his son."

Her eyes shone brightly for a second, before she readily agreed. "Yes. Alistair is so much like… he reminds me of Maric very much."

Alistair looked at me curiously. "You know of a story about my father and never told me?" He sounded hurt.

I shook my head. "Not really. I only heard one side of it, and it was from a particularly biased source."

"Loghain," he growled.

"Got it in one," I said, pointing at him. "And as his perspective didn't exactly portray Maric in a flattering light, I figured you wouldn't want to hear it."

"In what light did it portray him?" Alistair asked, his voice insistent.

Taking a deep breath, I answered carefully. "Mostly… irresponsible. Loghain was left to run the kingdom while Maric took off without warning. And he ended up needing to be rescued - yet again - by Loghain."

Fiona appeared to be collecting herself. "That is… true. Only Duncan, Maric and I made it out of the Deep Roads alive. And we were then captured by the First Enchanter, who was in league with the Architect. Teyrn Loghain's army saved him." She looked up at me. "I do not know if you are aware of the creature's plans."

As much as it would be amusing and thoroughly satisfying to string her along, a voice in my mind told me to rein my indignation in. The voice sounded a bit like Nathaniel, oddly enough.

"Infect everyone with the taint? Yes, I know."

Alistair gasped. "What? But that would kill everyone!"

Fiona looked at me oddly. "Have you conversed with the Architect? I can see no other way for you to know of its plans."

I nodded. "I have. Twice in fact."

Her colour faded. "No, you… you did not agree to help it, did you?"

I frowned. "What? Of course not! What sort of idiot do you take me for?"

Relief flooded her voice. "Then how," she stopped and shook her head. "We are going about this backwards. Please, tell me of your encounters with the creature."

Not finding any disrespect in her request, I just nodded. "Okay. There's a place in Amaranthine called the Wending Wood. We were there sorting out an issue with caravans being attacked. We found an elf mage there whose sister had been taken by darkspawn. She joined my Wardens and we descended into the Silverite mines in the Wood." I shook my head. "We barely got a hundred paces past the entrance when we activated a glyph on the floor. We were all put to sleep."

Fiona closed her eyes, looking resigned. "Such tactics are familiar to me. Please, continue."

I took a sip of water. "I only have vague memories of it experimenting on me, but I do know that it drained me of a lot of my blood. When I finally woke up I was in a cell with the rest of my Wardens and the elf mage."

I actually spotted sympathy in Fiona's eyes. "The Architect has your blood?"

"Dear Maker," Alistair breathed.

"Yeah. Bastard used it too, the next time we met."

"How did- no, please, finish your story before we move onto the next."

I gave her a shrug. "Not much more to say. We escaped the cell, rescued the elf mage's sister, and slaughtered just about everything that moved in the mines on our way out. We saw it again when it set two dragons on us. It didn't take part in the fight; it just watched us slaughter the dragons. Once we killed them, it left. It took its dwarf companion, went into a rough-hewn corridor and collapsed the tunnel behind them."

Fiona seemed ready to continue, but something made her pause. "Dwarf companion?"

With a nod I replied, "Yep. Didn't say a thing, though I suppose that's not a surprise, given that she was wearing the same armour as a pair of the Silent Sisters I met in Orzammar."

Fiona seemed shaken for a moment, before dismissing whatever idea she had. "Never mind. When did you meet the Architect again?"

I held up a hand. "Hang on. I should tell you what we found in the mines. His entire laboratory, notes, equipment, bedroom, everything. He was living in Amaranthine for Maker knows how long since corrupting Urthemiel."

"What's that?" Alistair demanded.

I grinned humourlessly at him. "The Architect started the Blight. He somehow discovered the locations of the remaining Old Gods, and tried his little ritual on our friend the archdemon. It worked about how well you'd expect, and we had ourselves a nice little Blight to deal with."

Fiona swallowed, looking very nervous. "The locations of the last Old Gods is now a secret restricted to the First and Second Wardens only."

I raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

She nodded. "Yes. I'm afraid that despite your position, I cannot give you that information."

I crossed my arms and leaned back in my chair. Alistair, who'd seen me do that many times before, winced. After a few moments, I grinned nastily. "So who was it? Bregan or Genevieve?"

Fiona swallowed. "What are you talking about?"

"Which of them gave the Architect the information? Normally I'd think it was Bregan, but from what Loghain told me, it was Genevieve who was the Commander. Though I suppose it's possible Bregan was the Commander before he went to his Calling."

She stared at me, her mouth slightly agape. "How?"

I rolled my eyes. "Come on! You just said that the information was no longer given out to the Commanders of the Grey, from which you can infer that it once was. Both of them were with the Architect when Loghain arrived to rescue Maric, so who was it who tattled?"

"Sorry," Alistair apologised for me. "Kat isn't exactly renowned for her tact. But she can ferret out a secret faster than anyone I know."

Fiona scowled at me, but answered. "Bregan. What he was subjected to for those weeks we will never know. But he willingly divulged that information."

I nodded. "And to ensure there's no repeat, Heinrich is keeping even more secrets to himself. Typical."

My disrespect caused a flush to appear on her cheeks, but there was no other outward sign of her disapproval. "Indeed. I am sure you can understand his position."

"Understand? Sure, I can understand why someone with limited mental gifts would think it good policy. Agree? Not so much. Anyway, it's a moot point. I already know where the last two Old Gods are."

Both Fiona and Alistair gasped in shock. "What?" the demanded together, their voices merging in quite a lyrical fashion.

I rolled my eyes. "I'm sure I mentioned that I had all the Architect's notes. What did you think was in them? Recipes for darkspawn stew?"

"Ew! That sounds awful," Alistair said.

Fiona however was much more focused. "Have you told anyone else?"

"Of course," I said dismissively; hoping to see a nice reaction.

I was not disappointed. Fiona almost exploded. "Imbécile! Who else knows?" she demanded, slamming her fist down onto the armrest of her chair.

"Again with the name calling," I said, resigned. "Are you aware that there's a difference between ignorance and stupidity? I have told some of my senior Wardens so that in the event of my death, the knowledge isn't lost. I haven't written it down specifically because I don't want that information to fall into the wrong hands."

"What about the original notes?" Alistair pressed, as Fiona struggled to compose herself.

"I excised the relevant passages with a razor, and replaced them with a note of my own describing what information they contained. That way, anyone studying them will know what they contained, and even know the phrasing the Architect used, but will not know the information itself. I burned the originals."

"Oh, well, that's good," Alistair said.

"No it's not!" Fiona snapped. "This information has not been given to any Warden-Commander of any nation in Thedas in twenty years. And now only the Maker knows how many Ferelden Grey Wardens know of it. For all we know every whore in Amaranthine knows."

I smiled sweetly at her. "Are you implying that my Wardens are loose-lipped when their little Wardens are at attention?"

"I do not know!" she snapped back. "But I must assume the worst."

"Why?"

She just about gaped at me. "Have you no concept of operational security?"

I looked over at Alistair, who wore an expression of desperate longing. Well, if he wanted me to try and play nice, he probably should have stood up for me a bit more. "Wasn't that the cause of most of the trouble we encountered?" I asked him, my voice all honey and roses. "You know, leaving the only Grey Wardens in a country ravaged by a Blight ignorant of how to end it?"

"Kat," he whined.

"Oh, shut it, Alistair," I snapped. "This little bureaucrat thinks that policy is more important that people. And that sort of thinking gets up my nose."

"How dare you!" Fiona raged.

"Aaaaaand she's back to generic objections due to running out of arguments," I sneered. "Look, you don't seem to have any useful information for me about these talking darkspawn. You certainly don't have any useful information about the Wardens. So just sod off and go back to the Anderfels, yeah?"

"Kathryn!" Alistair snapped.

Fiona ignored him and leapt to her feet. "I am not leaving, Warden-Commander! Not until the Architect is finally neutralised! I have waited too long for it to reappear, and I _will not_ leave my duty unfulfilled!"

I grinned wildly at her. "Well then, you can go and catch the next boat, sister. Your precious Architect is dead."

Oh, that was so very, very satisfying. The look of disdain morphing into outright shock and disbelief was a memory that was sure to keep me warm during cold winter nights for years to come.

"W-what?" she stammered.

"The Architect is dead," I said slowly and clearly.

"Kat," Alistair said just as slowly. "What happened?"

My Wardens and I killed it," I replied flatly.

His eyes narrowed. "And again please, only this time with a little bit more detail."

I sighed. I really disliked remembering the helpless rage I felt at the time. "It used my blood to freeze me in place while trying to convince me of its plan. I told Oghren to go ahead and chop him in half. It didn't work, but I managed to break his hold over me. Two dwarves, two elves and a dog took it down."

He frowned at me. "Why didn't you brief me?"

I glared at him. "I would have yesterday when I arrived, but you were too busy getting pissy about me ordering the execution of a murderer," I retorted.

"You could have written me a report," he said sullenly.

I snorted. "You think I'd commit those events to paper for you to leave lying around here? Don't be daft."

"You killed it?" Fiona said, her voice wavering.

"Of course we killed it; it was a damned darkspawn! I kill those on general principles," I testily replied. "Try to keep up. Oh, and the five of us had collectively been Grey Wardens for a total of a couple of years. So that really says something about the quality of your so-called 'elite' force of twenty."

"You're sure it's dead?"

"Yes I'm bloody well sure," I snapped. "If two feet of volcanic aurum through the brain doesn't settle the question then I shudder to think what would be needed. Look, I'd say I'm sorry for destroying your life's goal, but we both know it would be a lie. Nothing you've said today has been of any use, even if it was correct. Maker, you even got the length of service wrong for the most experienced Fereldan Gray Warden."

Insults were a great way to snap a person back to the present. Almost as good as a hard slap across the face. Almost as satisfying too. "_King Alistair_ is the most-"

"Er," Alistair hedged, interrupting her and holding up a hand. "I'm not, as a matter of fact."

She blinked at him. "What?"

He gave her an apologetic shrug and a wry grin. "Sorry, but I'm not. There's an old maleficar at Soldier's Peak who was a companion of Sophia Dryden. Um, she was the Commander two centuries ago who headed the rebellion against the Tyrant King. Somehow he's been using Blood Magic to stave off death for two hundred years."

I couldn't help it. I burst out laughing at her expression. Her entire world had come crashing down upon her in the last minute and a half, but I couldn't bring myself to feel sympathy.

* * *

><p>I was obliged to relate the tale of the Architect's demise in detail. Fiona sat still, sullen and silent throughout the retelling, leaving the job of asking questions to Alistair. He had quite a few, not having any experience with any of my current Wardens, with the obvious exceptions of Oghren and Thunder. He was less bitchy about Nate than I'd have imagined, though on reflection it shouldn't have been a surprise. When it came to the crimes of Loghain Mac Tir and Rendon Howe, Alistair held Loghain more culpable than Rendon; whereas I felt the opposite.<p>

Alistair called a short recess for us to dive into a meal. One thing about eating with the King, his kitchen staff knew how to put on a spread that would satisfy a Warden's appetite.

After an hour or so of good, hot, wholesome food, we returned to the fireside to continue my tale.

Fiona stared deep into her wineglass. She'd barely taken a single sip. "I wish to speak with your Warden Seranni," she said, without preamble. "I have questions I'd like her to answer regarding her time with the Architect."

Despite the authoritative tone, I nodded. "As you wish. Be aware however that she is yet to completely come to terms with what happened. If she declines to answer any of your questions, you will accept that."

Fiona's eyes flashed, but she nodded. "You are protective of your Wardens."

"I'd die for any of them. I'd kill for any of them."

She raised an eyebrow. "Is that a threat?"

"It is a statement. If you choose to take it as a threat, then I have to question your intentions towards them."

With a deep, slow breath, she leaned back in her chair. "Very well. I accept your terms. I would also like to visit the ruins in which you killed the Architect. The First Warden would not accept mere news of his death. Only by sighting the corpse would he accept my assurances."

I thought about that. "He is that worried about it? About what the cursed creature's goals were?"

"Yes. As we all were. It is… was very charismatic. Given the chance, it could bend even the strongest will enough to agree with its goals."

Privately, I didn't agree, but there was little to be gained by voicing that.

* * *

><p>The next morning I met with Eamon, to discuss the changes at the Circle. Though pleased with the final outcome of having Bryant as Knight-Commander, he was less than pleased with Zevran's description of the troubles Connor had been obliged to endure.<p>

As much as I felt empathy for the lad, I couldn't help but contrast Eamon's sympathy for the plight of the Circle mages before and after Connor was housed there.

Fergus' valet Matthew arrived with a letter for me, which he delivered while I was in session with Eamon. It was addressed in an elegant hand, and sealed with red wax embossed with the Highever crest.

It turned out to be an invitation to luncheon with Fergus and some of his guests. The paper was thick and edged in gold leaf. I found myself wondering if I could scrape the stuff off.

"You must attend," Eamon murmured, seeing my expression.

"Must I?" I asked archly.

He sighed. "Yes. It is an introduction to a small number of other influential people in Denerim. Teyrn Fergus is extending your education and your network of acquaintances. Go. Listen. Learn. The more people you know and the more experience you have in dealing with them, the more effective you will be in your own arling."

I looked over at Matthew, who had steeled his expression to be as neutral as possible. "Is that right?"

"I would not presume to speak on my Lord's behalf," he said politely. "But the guest list does include some important people of the city."

I grimaced at the idea of trading small talk with a bunch of people with no chins, but nodded. "Very well. Please tell Fergus I will attend."

Matthew bowed. "I am sure he will be most pleased."

"I take it wearing armour would be a bit of a faux pas?"

"Quite so. A gown similar to the one you wore to the last Landsmeet would be somewhat more suitable than dragonscale." He bowed again, and left after receiving Eamon's permission to withdraw.

I grimaced as I turned back to Eamon. "That might be a bit of a problem. I left that gown back at Vigil's Keep."

He expressed surprise at that. "You did not bring any suitable gowns for social events?"

"No. I brought robes and armour. Sorry, I've never been invited to anything like this before."

"I see," he said, rubbing at his bearded chin. "In that case, let us adjourn and get you properly attired."

* * *

><p>Properly attired involved a few dozen servants digging through various dusty chests for dresses my size. Unfortunately, 'my size' was not particularly common among human females over the age of about fourteen. The only gowns both suitable and of a size were some of Anora's - from when she attended formal functions with Loghain as a teenager.<p>

A couple of dressmakers were able to adjust the various bits and pieces, and I ended up looking quite like a young princess. Apart from my ears and scowl, that is.

I had a few mismatched pieces of jewellery I'd brought to Denerim. I had planned to sell them; the economy in Amaranthine meant that the jewellers there did not have the means to buy the more regal pieces I'd looted from various places over the past year.

I'd never worn un-enchanted accessories before. I found myself tugging at the pearl and diamond choker around my neck in an effort to keep it from chafing.

Alistair graciously loaned me a carriage to transport me to Highever House. By the time I arrived and the footman graciously assisted me down, I was as nervous as I had been just prior to my Harrowing.

I suppose as a metaphor it wasn't un-apt. I was being thrown into a situation I had no experience in and little control over. I clenched my hands into fists to stop my fingers from arcing sparks.

Matthew met me at the main entrance. He greeted me by name and expressed some admiration for my appearance. From what little advice Eamon had given me, I assumed that it was a form greeting. Anora's old gown looked elegant, but it did not fit comfortably at all.

He led me to a sitting room where a handful of brightly dressed ladies and their more soberly dressed men were drinking from tiny glasses. Somehow, one of the glasses appeared in my hand. I drained it.

Fergus appeared at my side and began presenting me to his other guests. They included a strikingly pretty young woman who turned out to be his fiancé, a middle-aged widow and her ten-year-old son, whose family owned a major shipping business stretching all along the Waking Sea, an elderly man who had served the Couslands as their family's legal representative for half a century and the new arl and arlessa of Denerim.

I was not the last to arrive either, a few more trickled in over the next half hour. An Antivan couple representing the family of Fergus' first wife arrived next. A greying gentleman with a haughty daughter turned out to be one of the larger landholders in the Highever Teyrnir. A rat-faced wisp of a man was introduced as a poet and author, though I'd never heard of him.

My head was spinning with both the alcohol and all the new names. Not one of the people in the room could have stood against me in a martial contest, but that fact was of little import. They each held power and influence in their own way.

The Antivan couple seemed to hold Fergus in mild contempt, a fact that even to my ignorant eye seemed odd. I couldn't imagine that insulting your host in such a setting would ever be considered acceptable. I got the impression that though the marriage had been one of love, the business dealings were far more important to the families as a whole.

Fergus bore the barbs and stings with good grace. I wondered if I should stand up for him as he had for me against Alistair, but I caught him giving the pair a look of pity behind their back.

He wasn't annoyed at their behaviour. He seemed to be sorry for them.

The last guests arrived, and I felt my heart melt with relief on recognising them. Aedan, Alfstanna and her brother Irminric. The tortured templar appeared perfectly lucid, though he walked with the aid of a cane. He also clasped a trembling hand behind his back on occasion.

Alfstanna however looked to have thickened a little in the months since I last saw her. Her gown was cut rather demurely. I had a sudden suspicion. I glanced meaningfully at her belly and then back up at her eyes. She gave me a serene smile, which I returned.

I also gave Aedan a saucy wink. He had the grace to blush slightly, but sent me a silent, pleading look.

So, still a secret then.

A gong announced that dinner was served, and a manservant led us to a dining hall, where a table with sixteen chairs had been laid out. I desperately hoped to be seated next to Fergus or Aedan, or perhaps between Alfstanna and her brother, but no such luck. Fergus obviously wanted to force me to converse with others, and so sat me between the widow and the lawyer, opposite the Antivans.

I couldn't say what topics were discussed. I found myself flushing with embarrassment more than once at a foolish slip of the tongue. I found myself taking the lead from Fergus or Aedan, letting a small nod or smile from them encourage me to continue a specific line of conversation; where a frown or shake of their heads would have me changing the topic.

At one point the Antivan couple started babbling between themselves and looking at me in horror. Fergus spoke to them in a resigned tone, simply stating, "Yes, this is she." I wondered briefly what realisation could have caused such a reaction, but quickly came to a likely conclusion.

I wonder if they used Lucius or Ignacio for their dirty work.

At least I wasn't the only one to suffer humiliation. The landowner's daughter at one point made some gaff or another and was rebuked rather sternly by her father. The little boy seemed more interested in stories of warfare and killing, which his mother insisted were not proper civilised topics of conversation.

I drank a bit more than I should have, though I forced myself to stop once I'd passed the point of gaining courage. Unfortunately, that was also passed the point of declining lucidity.

The topic of magic was carefully skipped over time and again, but came to the fore when the young lad insisted on being shown something magical.

His mother exclaimed, "Mortimer Herrionton!" as though being reminded of his name would somehow adjust his behaviour. Fergus' eyes widened in fright momentarily; even in my hazy state I recognised that he was worried that I'd lose control and burn his mansion down around us all.

He never needed to worry about that. I would never, never allow my control over my magic to slip.

I addressed Mortimer's mortified mother, assuring her that I was not insulted by the request. I suggested that something harmless, yet sparkly would probably be acceptable. She glanced at Fergus for support, but nodded.

I was about to cast when something in Fergus' expression caused me to pause. After a second, I turned to look down the other end of the table. Aedan and Alfstanna both looked pensive and nervous, but did not object. "Irminric? Do you mind?" I asked politely. It wouldn't do to have a templar try and smite me. In my fuzzy state, I might not be able to fight it off.

Alfstanna's look of apprehension faded as I sought permission to spell cast from her brother.

Irminric appeared confused, however. He glanced up and down the table, seeking an answer. Alfstanna touched his arm and whispered in his ear. After a few seconds, understanding shone in his expression, and he nodded at me carefully.

I took a deep breath, and let it out slowly, composing myself. Cantrips like this were taught to apprentices as a matter of course, but as a mage's power grew so did the output of all spells. I scaled back the effort and created dozens of glittering butterflies. The sparkling creations fluttered around the room.

Mortimer was delighted, leaping from his chair and bounding around after them. But Irminric stiffened and began to tremble. I cancelled the spell just before Aedan called, "Kathryn!"

There were more confused and accusatory glares in the silence that followed than I'd ever experienced. It as sobering as having a bucket of iced water poured over my head. Irminric rose ponderously to his feet. "Forgive me, my Lord, but I find myself fatigued. With your permission, I shall retire."

Fergus also rose to his feet. "Of course, Ser Irminric." He turned to his manservant. "Please escort Ser Irminric to his guest suite."

Irminric shook off Alfstanna's hand. "I can manage," he said to her. The proud man followed the manservant out of the room without further ado.

Fergus' lawyer harrumphed next to me. "Can't see what all the fuss is about, myself," he said. "That little light show was jolly entertaining."

Alfstanna narrowed her eyes at him. "Mages are dangerous. Templars are needed to protect us from them."

Just about everyone drew back from me. I blinked as I looked around the arrayed, frightened faces. "What? She is perfectly correct that we are dangerous. I would argue against the contention that templars are needed to protect the population, but the first point is simply fact."

Alfstanna seemed both surprised and pleased that I agreed with her on one point, but miffed that I disagreed with the second. "Who do you believe should protect us from mages then, Kathryn?"

I shrugged. "Mages, of course. I can't tell you how offensive it is that people are using this gift of the Maker against his children rather than for their benefit. I make no distinction between mage and non-mage when ridding Thedas of threats."

That caused a bit of a stir, but Alfstanna was not deterred. "Can mages be trusted to police their own?" she retorted.

"It would be nice to be able to say yes, but no group can be fully trusted to monitor itself," I admitted.

My frank and honest answers seemed to open the floodgates for other questions. As much as it pained me, I kept my more radical notions firmly buried and responded with merely progressive ones. That mages should be entitled to manage their affairs with only minimal input and oversight from the Chantry. That the Rite of Annullment be retired. That other branches of magic be explored, rather than the limited, classical curriculum currently studied at the Circle. That mages be allowed to seek private employment.

Fergus' lawyer suggested that some sort of register could be established for mages, similar to the body that governed his profession. The poet waxed lyrical about the romantic plight of the mages, much to Alfstanna's disgust.

Fergus noted that the healer he had employed from the Circle had saved several lives in the course of his duties. That caused some positive murmurings, but I was glad he didn't mention Daylen's difficulties.

Aedan blandly stated that the healer he had hired had already proved her worth. He was gently touching Alfstanna's arm at the time, so there was some other context to the statement. She blushed slightly and nodded.

Slowly, as the conversation moved around to safer topics, I relaxed. The nervous tension I felt had made the evening stretch to a couple of years long. I was absolutely exhausted by the time the carriages were assembled to return the guests to their homes.

I was the last to leave. Aedan gave me a chaste hug and a peck on the cheek. Fergus took my hand and bowed. "You did well tonight, Kat."

I tittered a nervous laugh, hating myself for it. "I think I'll go and join the darkspawn rather than do this again," I said.

He smiled at me. "I hope you'll change your mind. The guests tonight will all go and relate stories of the powerful yet restrained mage they had dinner with and escaped alive and unharmed. Changing the hearts and minds of people is a long, slow process."

I nodded, but gave him a kiss on the cheek. "Thank you Fergus. For everything."

o_ooo000ooo_o

AN: Thanks to my reviewers - Pintsizedpsycho, Nightbrainzz, MB18932, Isabeau of Greenlea (x4!), MrPowell, Ie-maru, Arsinoe de Blassenville, XxXTwlight-SinXxX, MemoriesoftheForgottenGuardi an, Nate88, Sakura Lisel, SgtGinger, anon, timunderwood9 (x3) and unanimously anonymous. mostly.

Sorry I didn't get to PM most of you, I've had limited time and internet connectivity this past week or so. New job, kids on school holidays as so forth. Hopefully things will settle down again soon.


	24. The Ferelden Grey Warden Report card

disclaimer type=standard

Anything you recognise is Bioware's. I dare say anything else belongs to them too.

/disclaimer

o_ooo000ooo_o

The Seeker rubbed at her forehead, pondering what she had been told, and whether she should divulge secrets long kept. The priests of Thedas had knowledge of a great many secrets, thanks to the sacrosanct act of confession. Occasionally, even a priest needed assistance with moral dilemmas. When one took a confession they felt unable to advise upon, it was only natural to take it to their own mentor. Thus, secrets could worm their way across Thedas through the ears and mouths of holy women.

Some priestesses were less than diligent when it came to the security of their journals. The Seekers had access to many secrets without the bothersome restrictions on keeping them, if it suited their purpose to reveal them. "This Warden Fiona, I presume she is the Grand Enchanter Fiona?"

"Naturally," the Warden shrugged. "With her life's work complete and the Taint removed from her body, she returned to the Circle. Only by then she had become accustomed to a certain level of freedom, both of movement and of expression. Her short visit to Kinloch Hold convinced her that the lot of the mages of Thedas could be improved markedly. She set about the reforms that you lot are still pissed about."

"Warden," Cassandra said with a considerable level of resignation in her tone.

Kathryn gave a soft chuckle. "What else can I say about her? You already know it. After Anders' pyrotechnic tantrum in Kirkwall, she pushed several votes to cede oversight of the Circles from the Chantry. She finally got one through and the templars have been bitching about it ever since."

The Seeker almost smiled. There was one thing she knew about the Grand Enchanter that she was sure the Warden did not. Perhaps she could use it as leverage. "Are you aware that the Grand Enchanter has a son?"

The Warden frowned, her catty amusement lost. "No. She never mentioned him. Why? Is it important?"

"You know him, that is all," Cassandra said in an off-hand manner.

Emerald eyes blinked in astonishment. "Wh-" she began, before cutting the word off. Her lips formed an almost perfect 'O'. "Oh," she said, her eyes widening. "Oh that conniving bitch."

Cassandra watched as the Warden animatedly rose and stormed around the small cell, waving her arms around and cursing. Normally, she would have enjoyed such a loss of control in her interrogation subjects, but the mage was not angry.

She was laughing.

"Do you realise that she played me?" Kathryn demanded, gesturing wildly with a grin on her face. "I even gave her an excuse! 'You were comrades with Maric', I said. And she jumped on board and ran with it. Stupid, stupid, stupid!"

"Are you amused or angry?" Cassandra asked, feeling a bit amused but angry herself.

"Ha!" barked the Warden, coming to a halt and grinning at the Seeker. "Impressed, actually. She didn't strike me as the sort who could keep her face straight when telling a lie."

Suddenly the elf looked away with unfocused eyes, clearly recalling a memory. A wide smile flooded her face and she burst into clear, joyous laughter. "Oh, no wonder she was so pissed at me!" She even clapped her hands in delight. "Oh that's priceless."

The Seeker frowned. "For assuming command from her son?"

The grin on Kathryn's face looked as genuine as a child's. "No! For making Alistair distrust her!"

o_ooo000ooo_o

Fiona spent quite a bit of time with Alistair over the next few days. Though not overt about it, I knew Alistair well enough to know that he found the attention unsettling. The Orlesian Warden had known Maric for only one adventure, and even though it was a relatively exciting one, it did not take more than a few hours to relate in its entirety.

The unending questions about him and his life took on a sinister tone when I pointed out that as an Orlesian, she might be fishing for information to use against Ferelden. Though he scoffed at the notion, he was rather more defensive around her after that. He refused point blank to answer some of her questions relating to his childhood, things that could conceivably be used in a campaign against him.

Fiona sought me out to ask what had caused Alistair's sudden withdrawal from her. I answered her question honestly, which caused her to become very, very annoyed at me. The strength of her reaction made me think that there might have been some truth to the accusation.

I had a few more meetings with Eamon as he prepared a charter for the Circle Mages. The document placed a large number of 'duties' on the mages, but also enshrined a formal grievance process. While it meant that collectively, the Circle mages were obliged to assist Ferelden in a manner consistent with their talents, individually they were protected from the abuses of the templars.

However, given the offhand way Tavish had dismissed the previous agreement, I decided to give Connor a little insurance should Bryant be recalled and replaced. The best skill I could bestow upon the lad was the ability to escape the tower at a moment's notice.

So, to that end, I purchased a couple of pet mice and a nice wire cage as a gift for Eamon's son. I wrote an accompanying letter, but I could not explain exactly why I wanted him to study the animals in detail. So I simply told him to learn everything he could about the mice, including dissecting them when they died, and to document the findings as a thesis.

Once I'd explained to Eamon my reasons, he enthusiastically agreed and promised to send more mice at regular intervals. The idea of his son having the ability to wriggle out of any room appealed to the Chancellor. He even included an admonition to do his very best in the endeavour, as a duty as a Guerrin.

By the end of the week, I was ready to return to Amaranthine. Denerim was nice to visit, and Wonders was a fantastic place to shop, but I found myself missing Nate's exasperated sighs, Oghren's filthy jokes, and especially Sigrun's irrepressible humour.

Pickering was ready to go too. He'd spent some time with the trio of assassins he'd rescued from Victor, and had convinced two of the three to volunteer to travel to Vigil's Keep with us. The third declined; his home cell had been destroyed and he reportedly didn't have any friends among Ignacio's Crows. He wanted nothing more than to get out of this crazy country of dog-lovers, psychotic mages and idiotic Crow Masters. He spent his last copper buying passage back to Antiva, leaving with due haste.

Despite Ignacio's misgivings, one of his men did volunteer to head north with us; a scarred and mildly crippled man in his forties. He had obtained a limp and lost three fingers by staving off the Crow's usual forced, abrupt retirement plan. Ignacio had since used him as an enforcer and instructor. He had a real gift for poisons, apparently.

Someone to watch, obviously.

* * *

><p>The trip back was uncomfortable to begin with.<p>

Not physically uncomfortable; the carriage I purchased with some of the money I pinched from Lucius' vault was quite possibly the most comfortable vehicle in the city. But the tension in the air made it difficult to relax or concentrate.

Over the past few months, the warrens under Denerim that had housed Caladrius and his cohorts had been stripped, sterilized and sanctified. The Chantry had seized and destroyed the collected phylacteries, but Anora had point blank refused to allow them to simply confiscate the library. She wanted the illegal lore within to be studied rather than lost, with a view to developing methods of combating the mind control techniques used by the Tevinters.

With the Chantry desperately trying to keep a Revered Mother from being hanged for treason, they gave ground on the destruction of the tomes, but refused point blank to allow even the Senior Enchanters of the Circle access to such knowledge. Eamon suggested, as a true son of the Chantry, that the confiscated library be locked away until the subject of its fate was resolved.

Eager to take whatever victories they could in such difficult times, the Chancellor was given official leave by the Grand Cleric to personally secure the library. To that end, the tomes were 'locked away' in several chests and glyphed shut by an anonymous, trusted mage with an archdemonscale wardrobe.

And so now, Fiona travelled north with me in the carriage with me, as did several wooden chests full of banned books. For the first few days the chests had more personality than my elven travelling companion. With studious intensity, she kept her nose in one of them and barely spoke a word to me. Not that I was bothered by it.

I offered Pickering a seat with us, but he chose to travel in one of the wagons in the baggage train behind; the one with the three Antivan Crows. The assassins were probably more nervous than anyone else in the convoy, which of course made the soldiers escorting us nervous too.

The presence of the three assassins was a bone of contention with Captain Francois, whom Fergus had 'loaned' to me. The dour soldier had been infuriated when given the news of the assassins' contract on me. Not because he believed that I had been in any particular danger, but that there was a person or people who would put their own desires before that of Ferelden.

Despite the fact that two of them had been tortured by the sadistic maniac Victor for daring to suggest that I should be left alone, Francois acted as though they were just waiting for a tiny window of opportunity to slip a knife between my ribs.

He assigned a half dozen of his squad to escort the trio of Crows at all times. The constant armed shadows made them very jumpy indeed.

To my delight, Francois had been assigned an apostate mage who'd taken up Alistair's offer of amnesty. 'Mac' was an emaciated young man who wore a patchy beard in the hopes that it would make him look older. When lined up with the other professional soldiers, he stook out like Thunder's hind leg when he took a piss, even when wearing a Highever tabard. He only knew a single, generic healing spell, but was very proficient with glyphs and hexes. He'd been tutored by another apostate since the age of six, and had little in the way of formal education.

It was a warming sight to see the perpetually astonished expression of someone who'd been looked upon with fear and loathing his entire life accepted by a group of men as one of their own.

I gave the man a standing offer of further magical training, should he even get the opportunity. He seemed quite keen at the prospect, so I left him detailed directions on how to get to Soldier's Peak.

The third night of our trip, Fiona finally broke the ice, offering to teach me a new warding schema for campsites. It had been developed by Grey Warden mages centuries before; for when they were travelling alone. In return, I offered to teach her the basics of the Arcane Warrior magic. She seemed dubious at first that a mage could cast spells while wearing armour, but the idea of reconnecting with her Dalish roots fuelled her curiosity. By the time we reached Wending Wood, she had managed the discipline of channelling her magic into her body, increasing her strength.

We stopped for a while in the Wood. Fiona and I took Pickering and a handful of Francois' men into the Silverite mines. Though my Wardens and I had stripped most of the equipment and resources from the Architect's lair, Fiona still wanted to examine the place.

I left her to it while I went and explored the complex for deeper passages. Pickering's normal conversation level doubled the moment he could no longer see the sky. And it doubled again as we delved deeper into the earth. When we got to the point where he was almost hyperventilating, I decided to call it a day and head back. It wouldn't do to have him panic on me.

Still, I learned that the mines did go much deeper into the earth than I'd initially discovered. In all probability they connected with the Deep Roads. It would be a generational task for my Wardens to map the subterranean highways beneath the surface. It wasn't something I could accomplish by myself.

Still, I was sure the mines themselves were as safe as could be reasonably made. It was probably time for me to reopen them. The silverite ore would be a nice addition to the arling's commodities.

Fiona was silent as we left the mines; lost in her thoughts and memories. Pickering was blessedly silent too. I'd have to remember not to take him below ground in the future.

We trundled away, Fiona deep in thought and me deep in planning.

* * *

><p>The courtyard outside the main Keep was busier than it had been when I'd left just a fortnight before. The Qunari merchant's head and shoulders were clearly visible above the throng. He was cataloguing the contents of a trio of wagons, dispassionately ignoring a couple of people trying to get his attention.<p>

Dozens of wagons were controlled by teams of dwarves. Some were unloading ingots and stone, others in the process of being filled with food and other goods. Livestock in cages clucked and bawled as dwarves slotted them into whatever space was available.

Fiona looked around the small courtyard with open curiosity. "I had not expected this level of activity in a Grey Warden fortress," she noted.

"It's not just a fortress for the Wardens," I replied. "It is also the seat of power for the arling."

She frowned. "Not the City of Amaranthine itself?"

I shook my head. "No, that's the seat of the Bann of Amaranthine. The Arl, or Arlessa in my case, resides here." I gestured at the crowd. "The Vigil is also the logical stopping point for overland traffic between Amaranthine and Denerim. Even the wagons coming from Highever stop here before continuing south."

She frowned. "It is not secure enough. Not for Grey Warden business."

The only reason I didn't snap back at her was that she had made the observation in a neutral tone, with no accusatory inflection. "This isn't where we keep the Warden secrets," I said flatly.

That appeared to surprise her. "Oh? Where do you… Ah, it would be this place you call, Soldier's Peak, correct?"

I gave her a tight grin, pleased that she was bright enough to make the connection. "Yes. The Peak is still mostly a wreck; it will take years to get the place fixed up. But it is very secure, and we can safely store things there."

Drake appeared at our carriage, his tattooed face serious. "Commander! Stones it's good to see you. We heard a rumour that you'd been knifed in the palace."

"Wasn't," I said with a grin.

"Can see that," he retorted. "Of course, we also heard that you told your Maker to go and piss in the wind and refused to die. Oghren reckoned that one was more likely." He stopped, as though remembering something. "Oh, sorry, I meant to tell you. Nathaniel wants to see you."

I raised an eyebrow as I stepped out of the carriage. "Problem?"

"News," he grunted. "Good and bad."

"Sodding wonderful," I sighed.

He grinned at me, and his tattooed cheeks looked shiny and lightly sunburned from long hours working outdoors. "You know, the way you swear makes us dwarves feel right at home, Commander."

I grinned back at him. "Just wait til I get a nug farm set up in the tunnels under the Vigil. Maybe even some tame deepstalkers. They'll eat most of the kitchen scraps and keep the vermin population down. How's your sister?"

"She's off with the elfs - Ben and Seranni," he replied.

Fiona stiffened. "Warden Seranni is not here?"

Drake raised an eyebrow at her, but didn't answer. I gestured to both of them. "Drake, this is Senior Warden Fiona of Weisshaupt. Fiona, Warden Drake. He and his sister have been invaluable in mapping the Deep roads in the arling."

Drake actually blushed. His jokes were even filthier than Oghren's, but you could make him embarrassed with a word of praise. I would have found it amusing if not for the reason behind the reaction. Thank the Maker that Bhelen was finally doing something about the plight of the casteless; even if it was only giving them grunt work. "Old Woolsey was getting a bit angsty about the bone left behind at the Wastes," he explained. "I think she's worried that someone's gonna snatch it away from her. Hape, Ben 'n' Seranni set off a few days back to dig up some more."

As I nodded, Fiona sounded curious, "Bone? What bone?"

"Dragonbone," I replied, my tone implying that the answer was obvious. "I told you where we killed the Architect."

Fiona blinked owlishly. "You mean that the name 'Dragonbone Wastes' is a meaningful description? Not poetic licence?"

Drake snorted as I shook my head. I pointed over at Wade, who despite Herron's nagging, was happily working some of the collected bone over an anvil. "Nope. There's a piece we brought back a few weeks ago."

Fiona took a deep breath. "How many more of these surprises are you planning to spring on me, Commander?"

I gave her an arch smile. "I'm not springing surprises on you. You're just underestimating me and my Wardens."

She grumbled a bit as Drake escorted us up the stairs and into the Keep.

"Kathryn!" Nate welcomed me as I stepped into his study. "Welcome home."

"Thanks Nate. It's good to be back, but I won't be stopping for long. This is Senior Warden Fiona. Weisshaupt sent her to advise us on our Architect problem."

He schooled his face into his usual dour expression, and greeted Fiona politely. She returned his greeting in a like manner.

"Do we have an Architect problem?" he asked in a tone of voice that sounded almost pleading.

"Not any more. But her orders were given before our report was sent."

"Ah," he replied as his shoulders dropped with relief. "Good."

I plonked myself down into a chair with little grace. Nate was polite enough to wait until Fiona was seated before he took his own seat. "We stopped at Wending Wood on the way here, but Fiona wants to see the Architect's body for herself. We're off to the Wastes in the morning."

He nodded. "Hape, Ben, Seranni and Falon'fen are there at present. Mistress Woolsey has been approached by the agent of a consortium of dwarves in the Free Marches. He wants to purchase a lot of our dragon bone."

Fiona frowned. "You have a Warden named Wolf-friend in Dalish?"

"No, Falon'fen is Seranni's mabari." I replied, happy with Nathaniel's news that coin was becoming even less scarce. "What else have I missed?"

"We've four more Wardens," he said, sounding pleased. "Benjamin and Seranni brought back two Dalish elves from a local clan a couple of days after you left for Denerim. And after the refugees returned to Amaranthine, a few people found that they'd lost their whole families. We had three orphans want to join and kill darkspawn. Two human women and a surface-born dwarf." He sighed. "All but one of the women survived their Joining."

I sighed. I really needed to visit Avernus. "I know it feels awful, but that's an excellent result, Nate. I'll meet with them tonight."

"Indeed," Fiona added. "A success ratio of that calibre is quite an achievement."

He didn't seem to agree, so I quickly moved on. "Anything else to report?"

He flashed a questioning look at Fiona. At my gesture to continue, he nodded glumly. Well, even more glumly than usual. "Anders has deserted."

My heart thumped. "Oh no."

He reached up to a shelf and pulled down a letter. "Here. His brother wrote us a letter."

I frowned. "His brother? Why would Matthias write to us?"

"Anders went to see him after he gave his lecture at the Circle."

I unfolded the letter after a brief glance at the broken seal. It was certainly from Matthias. I scanned the text and shook my head. "Damn Alistair."

Fiona scowled at me. "What? What did the King have to do with this Anders' desertion?"

I sighed. "He forced me to conscript him. Anders is a multiple escapee of the Circle. I wanted to let Anders decide to join the Wardens himself, but a stupid templar butted in. I could have handled it, but Alistair intruded and forced me to conscript Anders on the spot."

Fiona raised an eyebrow. "So? He is a Grey Warden under your command. You need to find him, and drag him back. In chains if necessary."

I swallowed and shook my head. "No."

Her eyes bulged. "No? It is your duty!"

I snapped my head around to face her. "And what then? I bring him back and _what then, Fiona_? He will just escape again. And again. And again! It's what he does! It's what he's good at. And we all have far too much to do than to spend all our time and effort keeping a professional escapee against his will."

"Then what are you going to do, _Commander_?" she said, emphasising my rank.

I took a deep breath. "Anders needs to decide to come back by himself. Or be convinced of that. That is the only way he will stay."

Nathaniel's mouth drew into a thin line. "He swore an oath, Kathyrn. To accept the duty that could not be foresworn."

I nodded. "Yes. He did. And perhaps we will get the chance to remind him of that. But we don't know where he is or what his plans are. Until then, we don't have the resources to chase him down."

He seemed to accept that, but Fiona obviously did not. She did however hold her tongue.

"I've got the first reports from Aiden after the initial restoration of Amaranthine City." Nathaniel pulled out a couple of pages of cheap parchment. "He's not all that proficient at writing reports, but he did include a roll of the dead, and how they died."

I looked at Nathaniel curiously. Why would he bring that up? "Anyone of interest?"

He nodded. "A couple of bodies were recovered from a barrel behind the inn; a man and a woman. They'd been murdered before the darkspawn arrived. The woman was identified as Nida; Warden Keenan's wife."

I massaged my temples. Every time I thought I had a handle on this arling, another problem jumped up and started taunting me. "Did Aiden identify the man?"

"Yes. But more importantly, he was knows to the locals as Nida's lover."

I winced and sighed deeply. "Bugger. I'm guessing they went missing a day or so after Keenan deserted, didn't they?"

"Most astute," he replied with a grave expression. "Keenan is not just a deserter, but a suspected murderer too. There are posters out on the boards in Amaranthine City calling for information on his whereabouts. Fortunately for us, he's not been identified on the posters as a Grey Warden."

"Thank the Maker for small favours."

"It's not all bad news," he said with a wry expression. "The archery contest is going ahead. A few of the Dalish archers from one clan are keen to show off their skills. As I understand it, there's actually quite some pride at stake. Some of them want to show us shemlen exactly what they can do with a bow."

I smiled weakly. "Well, I'll take that over them being too skittish to turn up. I've got a few enchanted bows I've looted over the last two years. I'll pick one of them as the main prize. I can put up a couple of purses of coin for those who perform well too. That will attract some human archers from around the arling."

Nathaniel nodded. "I have sent a message to Arl Eamon informing him of the competition. Hopefully he can organise some leave for some archers in the army to attend. I placed Briannah in charge of the logistics. She's definitely officer material."

"Good," I said for want of anything else to say. After a second's thought, I said, "Maybe we should include crossbowmen too. The dwarves at Kal'Hirol have a preference for them. It would be nice to see all local races represented."

Fiona nodded approvingly. "What are your intentions for Kal'Hirol?"

"Short term? I want to establish a Warden compound there. I want to have a visible presence and take an active role in patrolling the Deep Roads under the arling. Long term, over the next decade, when other similar trading posts are set up near other Thaigs, I want to duplicate the compounds and have enough Wardens to rotate around the different stations."

She nodded thoughtfully. "Such plans will put the Ferelden Grey Wardens in good stead with the dwarves of Orzammar."

Huh. Perhaps her report to Weisshaupt wouldn't be too bad after all.

* * *

><p>Woolsey and Garevel were not at the Vigil, so that was a small mercy. They'd taken a squad of soldiers and gone to Kal'Hirol; Woolsey to negotiate the financial arrangements between the arling and the fortress, and Garevel to liaise with the dwarves over the division of labour with regards to the security of the as-yet-unnamed trading post.<p>

My new Wardens were all still a bit bemused by my attention, but were enthusiastic in their approach to training. The new Dalish archers, Meeran and Fina, claimed to have heard of how the Dalish had been welcomed at the Battle of Denerim. Sigrun had talked them into volunteering to join the Wardens by regaling them with stories of her adventures in just a few short weeks. Racial pride was less important that tales of excitement to young men, it seemed.

Alice and Mendi, the two orphans from Amaranthine, were a lot more dour. Alice's family had all died during the invasion, and she had a burning desire, bordering on fanaticism, to kill all darkspawn. Mendi had been alone for longer, but without a caste or family name, he had no real prospects in the city. Still, he had a big hammer and knew how to use it well.

Duty obliged me to review and confirm many decisions Nate had made in my absence, but I did not feel the need to overturn any of them. Either Nate was learning how my thought processes worked, or he was becoming more like me.

Perish the thought.

I gave some orders for a couple of wagons to be provisioned. A few days later we left for the dwarvern stronghold. The trip was unremarkable. Even bandits learn eventually that some wagons are driven by armed Wardens.

The area on the cliffs above Kal'Hirol was _bustling_. Dozens and dozens of men were excavating topsoil and laying down stone, creating a durable road capable of handling heavy mercantile traffic. The mass of stone required for the task wasn't hauled in with wagons, it came from below.

The contraption that Oghren had called an _elevator_ was fully operational, transporting wagonloads of stone up from the depths of the chasm. Once unloaded, the contraption was then stuffed with lumber, crates of food and other goods and then sent down. Ser Derren had a pavilion set up near the cliff's edge, and was directing and prioritising the goods coming up and going down. I waved, but didn't bother him. He looked to have enough on his plate.

It wasn't just the teams shifting and laying stone. Animals were roasted over campfires, skins were stretched and tanned over wooden racks. Women bearing bundles of washing moved from tent to tent, collecting and distributing. Armed soldiers patrolled, young children ran errands, older children fixed tents. Some enterprising fellows carried around trays of foaming tankards, selling them to thirsty workers for a copper a mug.

The noise was incredible, and the sense of excitement was palpable. The place looked extremely temporary, like an army camp in a field, but slowly the place was taking shape. There was even a pavilion that had a number of provocatively dressed young ladies lounging outside.

I suppose having a proper whore-house was a sign of civilisation, even if it really was only a whore-tent.

We descended into the rift on the repaired and strengthened walkway. Thunder was still cautious at the idea of descending on wooden steps. He took some convincing that it was a good idea.

At the base, we discovered that Derren had a counterpart. The ugly dwarf Mischa coordinated the loading and unloading at the base. There was certainly less chaos at this end, though that may have something to do with the fact that anyone who stepped out of line copped a spray of inventive abuse that even Oghren would have found impressive.

Pickering's mouth started wandering again, but the cavernous passages on the way to Kal'Hirol made his anxiety less debilitating.

The guards at the front of Kal'Hirol waved us through without delay. We were escorted to Madison's office, she's set up shop in the old treasury.

The chirpy dwarf greeted us warmly and ordered some refreshment. Woolsey and two other dwarves were seated around a large table, but they all rose to greet us.

Woolsey's eyes widened when I introduced Fiona. It seemed that the elf mage was something of a celebrity among the Grey Wardens of the Anderfels.

I couldn't add much in the way of value to the talks, so I gave my apologies and left them to it. Fiona expressed an interest in the fortress, and so I gave her a brief tour, pointing out the impressive automated smithy.

We met with Madison's other assistants from the Shaperate, pouring over the emerging maps of the local Deep Roads. Darkspawn sightings had been recorded, but I was pleased to note that they were tapering off. Without having to assign a large percentage of the warriors to guarding the supply lines to Kal'Hirol, the place was fast becoming a defensible fortress once again.

We stayed the night, Fiona, Thunder and I sleeping within the fortress itself - in austere yet comfortable rooms. Pickering however looked stricken at the thought of sleeping underground, so I gave him a handful of coins and permission to head topside for the night.

The next morning, we left Kal'Hirol and headed north towards the ruined Drake's Fall, continuing Fiona's tour of the Grey Warden arling.

* * *

><p>The path through the Dragonbone Wastes had quite a few more wagon tracks than the last time I'd seen it. The tracks ended at a pair of wagons half loaded with bits of bone. They were not unguarded; there was a mabari sitting proud on one of the driver's seats. Thunder bounded forward, barking a greeting.<p>

Falon'fen whuffed a return greeting, and jumped down from her perch. The two dogs met with an aborted charge and sniffed around each other, presumably doing whatever social things that dogs did when they hadn't seen each other for a while.

Seranni came running at the sound of her mabari's barks. Within seconds, she was atop a rocky outcropping, bow strung and an arrow nocked. Honestly, I have no idea how she managed to do that while sprinting and leaping. "Kathryn?" she exclaimed.

Fiona's mouth set itself into a disapproving line at the informal greeting.

"Seranni," I waved up to her. "How's the bone mining?"

She slid the arrow back into her quiver and began unstringing her bow. "It is coming along well. Hape has uncovered a full skeleton that was preserved under a thick layer of clay." She dropped down to the path and approached us. In a conspiratorial whisper said, "She wants the skull for her room. She's insanely jealous of Sigrun's bed."

Pickering snickered, but Fiona took a deep, long-suffering breath. "Please tell me that Warden Sigrun's bed isn't a dragon's skull," she pleaded.

"Warden Sigrun's bed isn't a dragon's skull," I replied tonelessly. "Why? Is that a problem?"

She narrowed her eyes at me, picking up that I was fibbing. "You… seriously… what? Why does one of your Wardens have a dragon-skull bed?" she demanded after a few seconds of speechlessness.

I shrugged. "Because it was her trophy-kill. She killed it with a strike under the ridge-plate. It was one of the bravest things I've ever seen. That little duster rode the dragon's neck at least thirty feet up before she made the hit. It took Velanna quite some time to get her back on her feet after she hit the ground."

Two other figures appeared along the trail, weapons in hand. Both Benjamin and Hape wielded two weapons. Ben had long-bladed daggers and Hape a pair of axes. They stopped when they saw us; Hape skidding a bit on the gravel.

"Commander," Benjamin greeted me, sliding his blades home. The action was so natural that I could not help but wonder where a kitchen hand learned such weapon grace. It usually took years to achieve such.

Hape slotted her axes home into their holsters over her shoulders. "Commander! I found a whole dragon skeleton! Can I have the skull in my room? Please?"

"Of course," I agreed magnanimously. "But I might get you to take it to Soldier's Peak instead of the Vigil. Our numbers are expanding, so we'll need to move some of us to our other fortress."

She didn't seem to mind. "Thanks! You're the sodding best!"

"Hape!" Seranni scolded her.

The duster suddenly looked so apprehensive I wondered if she was expecting me to strike her. Instead I gave her a wink. Relief rose from her like steam. "This is Senior Warden Fiona from Weisshaupt. The First Warden wants someone to examine the Architect's remains. Have you had any trouble here?"

Seranni decided that as the most senior Warden present, she should answer. "No trouble, Commander. We were attacked by six darkspawn yesterday, but besides that nothing. We haven't been in the ruins though."

I flashed a grin at her. "Good work. Hape, Ben, Pickering, could you give me a hand with this crate?" I asked.

"Of course, Commander," Ben said in his soft whisper.

"Excellent. Seranni, Thunder, Falon'fen, could you please stay here with the wagons. We'll be back in an hour or so."

Fiona frowned. "I have questions for Warden Seranni. She should accompany us. Leave your bodyguard here instead; as he should not overhear our conversation."

I stared at her without expression. "No. She stays here. You can talk with her afterwards." I turned at started untying the ropes holding the crate on our wagon steady.

In the midst of frosty silence and even frostier stares, we had the crate off the wagon and carried down the path towards the ruins. Eventually, Fiona couldn't keep her frustrations to herself.

"Did you have a reason to countermand me?" she hissed.

"Yes." I replied flatly.

Realising that I was not about to elaborate, she spat, "Why?"

I turned to face her. "Because I'm not a heartless bitch, that's why."

Her mouth formed a perfect 'O' of surprise. "W-what?"

I snarled at her. "She was held in blood-thrall by the Architect for weeks. I'm not exposing her to the cursed thing's remains just so you can sate your curiosity. You've waited to interview her for months; you can wait another couple of hours."

Ben and Hape exchanged glances, but Fiona eased their worry by sighing and nodding. "You are of course, correct. My apologies. I did not consider Warden Seranni's position."

With the air cleared, between the four of us, it was a simple matter to carry the crate all the way down the winding path. Fiona called for a halt at one point, having spotted something that intrigued her; a faintly glowing patch of dead earth.

I explained the origin of the phenomenon. She shook her head at my explanation. I suppose I should get used to that reaction from people. Anyone who wasn't there would never believe it was necessary. I'd still do the same though.

The area in front of the ruined castle still bore the scars of that battle with the dragon. The carcass had been harvested well, though there was still some decomposing draconic offal in a pit to one side. The dirt was stained black with blood.

"It is astonishing that we thought dragons were gone," Fiona remarked as she noodled through the pungent pile of rotting organs with a stick. "I can't help but wonder if you and your Wardens are contributing to their actual extinction."

My Wardens and I shared a smile, and I shook my head at them. "Oh, I think we're doing our bit to ensure their continued existence."

"Sorry?" Fiona asked, looking just as confused as Pickering.

"Later," I said with a wave. "It's a surprise."

She gave a grumbling sigh. "More surprises."

"Well," I drawled, "not so much as a surprise as you wouldn't believe me unless you see it for yourself."

"I shudder at the prospect," she said tartly. "At this point, I think I'm prepared to believe just about anything you claim."

I chuckled, but turned to the ruin. "Come on. Your old friend awaits."

It took only an instant for Fiona to recognise the Architect. A sharp drawing of breath preceded a slump of her shoulders. "Oh thank the Maker," she whispered.

Hape grimaced at the half-decomposed body. "Ew! That's the Architect is it?"

I directed Ben and Hape to put the crate down next to the rotting corpse. "Ugly bastard, isn't it?" I said conversationally. "Do you want to preserve the body, Fiona?"

She nodded. "For what good it will do. I appreciate your accomplishments, but it would have been helpful had you performed the spells immediately after killing it." She pulled out a pair of thin leather gloves and began positioning the body. Apparently she was the kind of person that disliked getting her hands covered in gore.

"Yeah, well, we were a bit busy at the time. You know, trying to stop ourselves dying of wounds sustained, that sort of thing."

She sighed, but began casting preservation spells rather than respond to my barb. Benjamin looked surprised. "Um, Commander, you're going to save the body? What's left of it? Why?"

"Not me," I replied. "Weisshaupt sent Fiona here to assess the danger and assemble a team to kill the Architect. Seems they felt that we couldn't handle an ancient, insanely powerful darkspawn Blood Mage. She's of the opinion that they wouldn't believe that we'd killed it without proof. I figure sending the body back to them will satisfy them."

"I dare say so too," he said with a wry grin. He looked around the area, and ran his hand along the charred, shattered and scorched rocks. "I've never seen anything like this. You must have really let loose."

I nodded, wincing at the memory. "Yep. Felt like the battle went for days. I've never fought anything like it. Not even the archdemon. Mind you, at least then we had open sky then and I could use some of my really big spe-" I broke off as my Warden senses began tingling.

"Commander?" Ben said, his head bent to one side quizzically.

I sighed. "Incoming darkspawn." I heard Fiona suck in a deep breath. Couldn't she sense them?

Hape snatched her axes and had an excited grin. "Where from?" She was practically bouncing on her feet.

I pointed towards the archway leading down into the earth, towards The Mother's cavern. "Down there. I think there's about twenty or so. No ogres though."

Ben drew his daggers. "Orders, Commander?"

"Hape, you and I are taking point. Ben, pick a side and flank as you can. Fiona, Pickering, can you lay down some covering fire?"

Pickering nodded and pulled his crossbow from his shoulder. Fiona actually gave me a wry smile. "It has been a while, but I believe I remember how."

I nodded and pulled Spellweaver from my shoulder. I'd much prefer to use Spellfury, but Hape didn't have the bulk to keep so many darkspawn from breaking the front line. With sword in hand, I cast a few preparatory spells, coating our weapons with elemental ice, hardening my skin and fading my body. Fiona's expression of shock at my transparency was a warming sight.

I thought back to my recent adventure in the Crow's nest. "Ben, hang to one side until this goes off, all right? I don't want you caught up in it." I dropped a barrier glyph on the wide entryway.

Pickering recognised it. "Whoa boy," he whispered, gripping the stock of his crossbow tightly.

"That won't hold them back for long," Fiona said.

I grinned nastily. "It's not meant to. Just wait til you see this. It's a beauty."

The first darkspawn came into view and rushed us, hitting the barrier glyph hard.

"Observe," I said in my best impersonation of Irving in the classroom. I dropped a paralysation glyph on the front runners.

The magic of the opposing glyphs reacted poorly to each other; both unravelling in a single cascade failure. The explosion shredded half a dozen darkspawn and floored the rest. It was much nicer to watch the effect from a distance, rather than from inside the blast radius.

I turned to Fiona and with a cocky grin said, "Nice, eh?"

"Focus, please!" she snapped, before launching a fireball.

The battle descended into a farce at that point. The darkspawn who survived both the magical explosion and fire tried charging through Pickering's bolts at Hape and me. Hape proved to be quite a vicious little bitch in battle, preferring to cripple her opponents with axe chops to the knees and ankles rather than try for killing strikes at the outset. Of course, her method tended to bring the taller hurlocks down to her eye level where she took great delight in caving heads in. Oghren would no doubt be flirting madly with her.

Ben, for all that a few weeks ago he was a lowly kitchen hand, darted out and buried his daggers into darkspawn backs with impressive precision before spinning away out of range. He seemed to instinctively know where to strike for best effect; kidneys being his target of choice. He weaved like a dancer, and I felt a great worry lift. He could certainly look after himself.

Fiona however appeared to be suffering from long decades of polishing a chair with her backside as a research Warden. Perspiration ran down her face and she drew her breath in gasps, but her magic was steady and proficient. It too barely more than a few minutes for silence to once again descend on the room.

I wiped corrupted blood from my sword's blade. "Well, that was bracing."

* * *

><p>We packed the Architect into the crate and sealed it with both nails and magic. It was a bit more difficult to carry out as it had been to carry in, but we managed it with a minimum of fuss.<p>

My Wardens had set up camp inside the ribcage of a large dragon-skeleton, stretching their tents over the ribs and securing them with rope. The effect was a bit creepy, but instead of three small tents, we had a covered area large enough for a fire pit in the centre.

Pickering was kind enough to volunteer for first watch with the dogs, sitting a far enough distance away that he could not hear our conversation. Fiona had many questions for Seranni, and I had to rein her in often as her enthusiasm began to overtake her compassion.

The Architect's ability to modulate and manage the taint was the prime topic of conversation. I explained that when I first encountered Seranni she had been almost completely gone to the darkspawn corruption, yet still retained a semblance of her own personality.

To her credit, Seranni answered every question put to her. She punctured a few of Fiona's theories with pointed observations, and firmed up a few more with eyewitness accounts. Fiona was shocked to her core at the revelation that the silent dwarf woman with the Architect was indeed the same dwarf Grey Warden she knew twenty years before.

The idea that the taint could be held at bay indefinitely intrigued me. I needed to speak to Avernus.

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AN: Thanks to my reviewers - Pintsizedpsyhco, Mb18932, Isabeau of Greenlea, MrPowell, anon, Ie-maru, Nate88, timunderwood9, Arsinoe de Blassenville, unanimously anonymous. mostly and shyWriter413.

A shorter chapter, because though I wanted to put the meeting with Avernus in this chapter, it was really fighting me. I figured I'd post what I had now and have a longer chapter next time.


	25. Scaring the piss out of demons, a guide

disclaimer type=standard

Anything you recognise is Bioware's. I daresay anything else belongs to them too.

/disclaimer

o_ooo000ooo_o

"You did not mention to what use you put the Antivan Crows you hired," Cassandra pointed out.

"True," the Warden answered. "I just thought it was a bit boring, that's all."

Cassandra stared at her. "Boring? Three professional assassins brought to your arling where a large number of nobles recently took part in an ill-fated conspiracy to murder you, and you take care not to mention them?"

Kathryn shrugged. "Well," she drawled, "I figured you'd just assume they were there to train my Wardens."

The Seeker narrowed her eyes. "Were they?"

"Yes."

"I don't believe you," Cassandra stated flatly.

"Fair enough. I wouldn't believe me either."

The Seeker crossed her arms. "Do you intend to keep their purpose a secret?"

The elf grinned at her. "Only if it really bugs you."

"Warden," Cassandra half-growled, half-sighed.

Kathryn snickered. "Fine. I wasn't lying, you know. They were there to train my Wardens. Not just in fast, silent killing, but also in infiltration, finding points of entry into buildings, identifying weaknesses in guard routines, that sort of thing."

The Seeker nodded slowly. She had no doubt that the assassins were put to far more uses than had been admitted, but it was plausible. Half the trouble the Chevaliers and Orlesian templars had during the recent Exalted March on Ferelden was the shockingly brief life expectancy of the field officers.

Antiva, despite the poor quality and size of her standing army, would never be invaded while the Antivan Crows were a power. It did not surprise her that the Fereldans had learned that lesson too. Weak nations often resorted to less than honourable methods of defense.

Kathryn ignored her musing, and continued her tale.

o_ooo000ooo_o

We left Hape, Ben, Seranni and Falon'fen the next morning, trundling away under grey, light-less clouds. Pickering sat next to me, reins in hand while I read a book. Fiona sat in the back of the wagon, quill in hand, writing notes about her discussion with Seranni.

Thunder of course, ranged far and wide searching for entertainment. He brought back the odd crushed bunny, so he probably found it.

The journey between Drake's Rest and Soldier's Peak passed quickly. The weather was practically balmy for Ferelden at this time of year, allowing us to travel for long periods unimpeded by muddy roads.

Pickering was stoic in the face of long discussions on magical theory between his travelling companions. He was learning the art of camp site management well; for a city boy, that is. He learned how to select an optimal location to pitch a tent, how to cook a brace of hares evenly, and how to set snares as defences. Of course, he was picking up some bad habits. Travelling with an elementalist meant that you never had to struggle with your tools to get a fire started.

It only took a couple of days to get to the tunnels that led to the Wardens' fortress. The most difficult part of the journey was getting the wagons through.

Fiona gasped at her first glimpse of Soldier's Peak. The towering fortress made everyone feel very small from that first vantage point. I suppose that was the idea.

"This is your fortress?" she exclaimed. "I had no idea it was so…"

"Big?" I offered.

"Big," she confirmed with wide eyes. "It is enormous."

I smiled serenely, feeling a sense of pride. This place would be incredible when I'd finished with it. "What first?"

She shook her head to regain her focus and looked over at me. "I would like to speak with Warden Avernus."

"Are you sure? You don't want to go around the back and have a look at the old griffon stables, for instance?" I asked innocently.

She gave a sharp sigh. "Why? Why would I wish to do that?"

I shrugged. "It might be enlightening," I responded. "Pick, would you mind unloading the wagons? Levi or Mikhael will be over there in that outbuilding. They'll probably be able to help."

He nodded. "Of course."

"Thank you. Well? Come on, it's just over here," I said to Fiona, heading off towards the cliff behind the fortress.

She groaned. "Very well. I can see that you are just dying to take me there. I trust whatever juvenile prank you wish to pull on me will not take too much time?"

I gave her a scowl, though I was secretly delighted at her sarcasm. "You're no fun at all, you know that?"

She rolled her eyes. "It has been remarked upon."

I grinned at her. She was actually starting to loosen up around me.

She trotted up and seemed to think she should clarify her statement. "Maric in particular took great delight in trying to… to…" she paused, her expression completely honest in its surprise. She snatched her staff from her shoulder and readied it. "Th-th-there's… they're dragons!" she screamed at me, pointing.

"Yup," I replied happily. The three we could see over the gentle crest of the land were joyously bounding after each other. They looked to have almost doubled in length in the months since we'd captured them. They cavorted and careered around, crashing into each other and attempting to bury one another under their bulk. "They're only babies," I pointed out despite their size. I reached over and pushed the point of her staff to the ground.

She stared at me. "If the dragonlings are here, then the mother will likely be nearby!" she shouted, quite unnecessarily loudly in my opinion.

I shook my head. "Doubt it. We killed the mother a while back."

"You k-," she started, before her mouth dropped open in realisation. "You're _raising_ these?" she said with a sweep of her arm.

"Yup," I repeated just as happily.

"Why?" she demanded.

"Because griffins are extinct," I said in a reasonable tone of voice, repeating the justification I'd given Alistair months ago on the top of Fort Drakon.

She looked even more confused for a second before realising what I was implying. "Because… you want to _ride_ them?"

I nodded. "Sure. Why not? Imagine how many darkspawn we could wipe out just by flying over their heads breathing fire."

She just stared at me for a long time. Over the gentle rise, the three dragonlings descended into a brawl full of mock snarls, snapping and little gouts of flame.

"Honestly, I'm not sure why I'm so surprised. The idea of willingly raising dragons to train and ride into battle is so insane that it makes complete sense that you would want to do it."

[br]

We continued on to the old griffin stables, where Jowan and Levi's nephew were at work, mucking out the dragon manure. Anders was right; dragons produced a prodigious amount of shit.

Fortunately (or perhaps consequently) the smelly stuff was fantastic fertilizer. The limited area set aside behind stone fences for farming looked stupendously productive.

Jowan was almost glowing. He proudly showed off his Warden pendant and told me the story of his Joining. Apparently, he and Avernus had slightly modified the recipe for the Joining potion; one that was customised to a single recruit. It involved adding a drop of the imbiber's blood to the concoction. While the sample size for the experiment was currently one, both felt that the new recipe had good prospects for further tests.

Only a pair of maleficars would come up with such a change. Fiona's expression revealed no disdain for Jowan's specialisation; rather, she looked intrigued at the refinement.

Jowan then showed us around the stables. One of the dragonlings had taken ill and was being kept quarantined from the others. The problem did not seem life-threatening, but caring for six vomiting dragons would probably be a bit beyond Jowan's skills.

Containing the horrific stench of the dragon dung was not a task for the faint hearted. But, by clever use of barrier spells, the nearby area was not uninhabitable. Jowan explained how he shovelled the raw shit into a short silo where it broke down into fertilizer quickly under entropic magic. A fascinating, and very practical, use for a branch of magic that had little in the way of positive uses.

Jowan called the dragons for their feeding, and we were almost bowled over in the ensuing rush. Fortunately, the dragonlings were playful rather than malicious, and didn't try to trample us underfoot.

As the young Dryden scion began placing various amounts of game carcasses, fish and grains into the six feeding rooms, Jowan explained their reasoning. Without a guide to raising dragons in the library, they really were making it up as they went along. Differences in feed proportions produced visible changes in the dragons' growth rates and strength. As a researcher at heart, Jowan was quite literally writing the book on raising dragons.

And he wasn't alone. He and Daylen had never gotten along in the Circle. The pair disagreed on just about everything, ranging from their preferred Fraternity to their taste in literature. There were never any overt hostilities between the two boys, but they couldn't speak civilly to each other either.

However, despite their almost diametrically opposing views on just about everything, they were both mad for dragons. That one shared love was enough to keep the arguments between them to a minimum.

Of course, the fact they barely saw each other was another reason. Daylen was doing 'nights' at present; meaning that he was responsible for the dragonling's night-time feedings and health checks this week. He would give Jowan a briefing in the morning before seeking his bed, and get one from Jowan this evening.

It really was a weight off my mind.

After about half an hour, during which Fiona even worked up the courage to pet the one with cute colouring on its snout, we bade the two 'dragon masters' farewell and headed back to the Peak.

Fiona mused that if the next Blight came to Ferelden, it might last even less time than the last one.

I think she was really starting to get me and my plans.

* * *

><p>Dagna met us in the entrance hall, bounding down the stairs three at a time. "Commander!" she shouted in greeting.<p>

I responded in kind and attempted to introduce her to Fiona and Pickering. Dagna barely glanced in their direction before she was off on one of her stream-of-conscious monologues where any minute magical titbit of knowledge became cause for celebration.

It sounded as though Avernus had been quite free with his research, though if I knew the old maleficar, he was probably doing his best to freak her out. But not even the sourness that comes from two centuries of pickling could dent Dagna's exuberance.

She burbled away happily as she led us up the stairs towards Sophia's office. Fiona's expression was one of mild disapproval. "Do you recruit sane people at all?" she hissed at me.

"Not if I can help it," I whispered back tartly, though I couldn't really see what bothered her so. She had met Nate and Ben, both of whom were studious and averse to taking undue risks. Seranni was still a bit troubled by her recent time with the Architect, so her peccadilloes were understandable. And Hape was enthusiastic but not… no, wait. She wanted a dragon-skull bed. That would definitely be a tick in the 'confine to a sanatorium' box.

Maybe it was just me. Perhaps my particular brand of insanity enhanced or highlighted the foibles in others.

Dagna continued to chirrup along about all the amazing things she had learned since arriving here, not noticing or caring that her audience had lost attention momentarily. I noted places of recent repair on our trip through the fortress. Raw lumber nailed into place next to ancient, varnished timber. Rough stones of different colour and composition were mortared next to stones worn smooth by centuries of wear.

Soldier's Peak was slowly, but surely, reviving.

* * *

><p>Fiona approved of the lone walkway entrance to the Mage Tower of the Peak. It made keeping Warden secrets a lot easier. We entered Avernus' workshop. It was really much nicer than the first time I'd laid eyes on it.<p>

"Avernus, this is Senior Warden Fiona of Weisshaupt."

The old mage looked Fiona up and down. "No, she is not," he declared flatly.

I blinked. "Sorry, what?"

He glanced at me for a moment before seeming to remember something. "Ah, I keep forgetting that you are so young to the Wardens. You probably cannot sense the taint in other Grey Wardens yet. This mage does not bear the taint. She is no Grey Warden."

I turned to face her, eyebrows raised. Given the secrets I'd been discussing with her over the past few weeks, I was going to have to execute her on the spot.

"That is technically correct," Fiona said carefully. "The taint was purged after my first meeting with the Architect twenty years ago." She opened a pouch at her side. "I have letters of introduction from the First Warden here."

Avernus held out a hand. "May I?"

He examined the documents carefully. I wondered why she never gave them to me. She probably showed them to Alistair. Avernus finished the top sheet and lifted it away, reading the second. "Hmm, I see. Have the Grey Wardens in Weisshaupt examined this phenomenon? Have they managed to duplicate the method to cleanse the taint?"

Fiona frowned. "Er, no. The method is known, if not understood. No further research to duplicate it has been conducted."

I gasped at that. Avernus sighed as he handed the documents back. "Typical short-sighted fools."

"Maker, yes!" I fervently agreed with him. I turned to Fiona. "Are you seriously telling us that the Grey Wardens know of a way the taint can be removed from a Warden, yet they haven't studied it?"

Fiona's jaw clenched. "The _method_ has been studied. Unfortunately, the artefact in question was developed using the Architect's magic. It accelerates the taint while a Grey Warden bears it. As we have not been able to recreate the object or its effects, we did not continue that line of inquiry." She looked Avernus up and down. "The First Warden will have many questions for you, Warden Avernus," she responded in an aggressive tone.

But Avernus had faced the legions of the Black City for ten times my lifespan. He barely acknowledged the implied threat. "What naïve children the Grey Wardens have become," he said with his creepy smile. "Time was that they were prepared to do what was necessary. Threats were for those too weak to actually _do_."

She stiffened, and I intruded on the conversation. "Perhaps we can discuss your recent research? Jowan mentioned the new refinement to the Joining potion recipe. How have you gone with the flowers I sent?"

He gave Fiona a dismissive sniff, and turned back to me. "The specimens you sent have remarkable properties. We experimented with growing them in soil soaked in darkspawn blood. The flower leeches the taint from the loam."

I blinked. "Fantastic!"

He nodded with such vigour that I imagined his frail neck coming away from his body. "Indeed. Quite remarkable. It has the potential to be a non-magical method of cleansing the taint without resorting to fire. A boon for any land that has suffered a Blight." He held up a hand. "However, it does not appear to lend any particular resistance to the taint. My experiments with snared game show no inherent benefit in ingesting the flower or its compounds before exposure."

Fiona cleared her throat. "If I may, what flower?"

I explained about the flower that grew wild near Ostagar. How it could be made into a salve that cured Blight sickness – in mabari at least." I scratched Thunder's ears. "Both Thunder here and the mabari belonging to the Teyrn of Gwaren were infected by the taint. The flower could be made into a poultice that healed them."

"I see," she said. "It seems that I have a great deal to learn."

[br]

Learn she did. We spent almost two weeks at Soldier's Peak, sharing ideas and lore. Dagna was impressed with the collection of books that had been confiscated from the Blood Mages beneath Denerim. Daylen was more impressed by the fact that we'd essentially absconded with them from under the Chantry's collective nose.

Avernus however, after a constructive few days, announced that there was little of real worth among them. Most of it was knowledge and lore he was well acquainted with. There were some journals and other tomes that had interesting adaptations of existing techniques, but there was no revolutionary lore.

Still, it never hurt to have more books. Especially if Alistair followed my suggestion that his army apostates all take a few weeks at Soldier's Peak for some training. It would be nice for the hedge mages to get some formal education.

With four exceedingly competent researchers and scholars at my disposal, I set about documenting the spells and disciplines involved in the Arcane Warrior, Dalish Keeper and Shapeshifting arts. Daylen's eyes lit up at the thought of wearing armour. Jowan was keen to learn to change his shape to that of a dragon, to my amusement. And Avernus was intrigued at the Dalish magic, though he claimed to be familiar with some of it; a relic of his time with a Dalish acolyte.

Dagna, of course, threw herself into learning everything she could about all three.

Between us, we drafted some protocols around the split between Grey Warden lore and the magical knowledge that I intended be available to other mages who came to the Peak to study. Fortunately, the design of the fortress made the split trivial – Warden secrets and lore would be kept in Avernus' tower under lock, glyph, trap and barrier. Anything else would be kept in the slowly-developing library within the fortress proper.

Fiona's long years with the Weisshaupt Wardens proved to be a boon in some respects. She could identify things that the Wardens would likely prefer kept apart. I did not follow all her suggestions, but when I overruled her, I had an argument for the decision.

I didn't spend all my time in magical discussions. Mikhael accepted my commission to outfit the Wardens stationed at Soldier's Peak, and gruffly included Pickering in that number. My bodyguard's weapons were replaced with exquisitely balanced blades forged just for him.

Dagna had some trouble with weapons. Fergus' description of her prowess, or lack thereof, was quite apt. Even wooden practice swords ended up giving her bruises. We were both getting frustrated before Fiona suggested a distinctly Orlesian solution.

Courtiers in the Empress' court had recently adopted a fashion to carry long, narrow-bladed swords called rapiers. Though practically useless against anyone wearing solid armour plating, the flimsy weapons were the elegant weapon of choice for a gentleman or lady.

But, as with almost anything, they were dangerous in the hands of a master. A body of literature had grown around the weapon describing the strengths and weaknesses of various techniques. To become a master of such a weapon needed more study than practice. Where my style of melee combat relied on constant practice and training, wielding a rapier well required the wielder to read constantly.

Something Dagna could gleefully endorse.

Eventually, once I was satisfied with the way the Peak was evolving, Fiona, Pickering, Thunder and I packed our wagons and headed out. Fiona's last stop on her Ferelden odyssey was the Circle at Kinloch Hold. And while I had no real desire to ever set foot in the place again, I agreed to take her there. I wanted to look Bryant in the eye and tell him that I was sorry.

Hopefully, this time it would end with a little less work for the local undertakers.

* * *

><p>I felt an odd sense of déjà vu as we walked down the pier. The templar on duty observed us as we approached, but suddenly stiffened and began backing away.<p>

He'd recognised me then.

"Uh… C-commander K-kathryn," he stammered.

I smiled at him. Well, grinned really. "Ah, Aaron, isn't it? Nice to see you again."

"Ahhh," he prevaricated, glancing between Fiona, Thunder and I. My mabari just sat on his haunch and bestowed a self-satisfied, tongue-lolling, doggy smile on the initiate.

"I take it you know each other," Fiona said dryly.

I nodded. "Oh, we're old acquaintances. Aaron here once ferried me to and from the Tower."

Fiona raised an eyebrow at me. "That does not explain why he is clearly terrified of you."

I took off my helmet and scratched at my scalp, relieving some of the irritation. "Well, no. That's true. That would be what happened last time I was over there."

She sighed. "I shudder to think." She addressed the trembling templar. "You! Ser Aaron, was it? Please be so good as to transport us across to the Tower."

"B-b-but…" he started, staring at Thunder.

"He didn't eat you last time, and he's already had breakfast," I said as soothingly as I could; which wasn't very.

We strode forward and past the templar, clambering down into the boat. It rocked a bit, given the incaution I displayed by just jumping in, and it was a tight fit with Fiona, Pickering, Thunder and I crammed into an area meant for two at best. But eventually we were on our way and making good time. If I was any judge, we'd probably break the record set the last time we were in this boat.

There was no one waiting for us when we hit the pier. Aaron was up and out of the little boat before the waves from our wake reflected back onto us. He hastily tied off the mooring ropes and bolted towards the Tower without a word.

Fiona gripped the sides of the boat until it stopped swaying, watching him go with more than a little curiosity. "I must admit, I have never been met with courtesy at any of Thedas' Circles, but most times I at least receive respect. This greeting is abominable."

I stood with the exaggerated care of someone in heavy armour over deep water. "Oh, I don't know. Being abandoned has its charms. Last time I was here the Knight-Commander tried to arrest and imprison me."

She blinked owlishly at me. "On what charge?"

I deliberately blinked back at her. "What do you mean, on what charge?"

Pickering reached out and grabbed hold of the pier, steadying the boat for me. Fiona did not appear to notice. "_I mean_, on what grounds did he arrest you?" she pressed.

I managed to climb out without too much fuss, though crawling in armour did dent your dignity a bit. To my not-very-great surprise, I found that I was having fun stringing her along. "I'm a mage. Why does he need any other grounds?"

That appeared to stump her. "You are a Grey Warden! By Divine decree, he has no grounds to arrest you!"

I held up a hand in a lecturing pose. "Unless…"

"Unless what?" she demanded, easily climbing out of the boat. Robes were more convenient for some things, I have to admit.

"Unless there were no witnesses present," I finished.

To my disappointment, instead of spouting off denunciations, she simply sighed. "Ah. I had rather hoped that with a mage ending the Blight, that sort of thing would become rarer. It appears that such things are universal across Thedas."

That was a bit of a blow. Personally, I'd rather hoped that things were just this bad in Ferelden.

"What happened? When the Knight-Commander tried to arrest you, I mean," Pickering asked.

I shrugged, helping both him and Thunder out of the boat. "He ordered that I disarm myself, remove my armour and submit to him. I was disinclined to acquiesce to his request."

He grinned at me, while Fiona gave me a very wry smile. "Yes, I have known you long enough that I'm quite capable of drawing that conclusion. I take it there was some unpleasantness, and that is why our escort abandoned us?"

"You take correctly."

Fiona glared at me. "Details, please. If I'm going to walk into a Maker-cursed Circle, I want to know if I'm going to be attacked on the spot."

I shrugged again. "What's to tell? They wanted to arrest me. I said no; told them so sod off, in fact. One idiot decided that a mage disobeying an unlawful order from the Knight-Commander was a smiting offence. Thunder spotted it before I did and ripped said idiot's throat out. They drew weapons, I dropped a fireball. They charged; I stunned them. They tried hacking at me with axes; I started slicing them up into fish bait. At that point, things started getting nasty. Eight templars died before Greagoir grudgingly offered me a temporary cessation of hostilities until sunrise the next day. And then, at sunrise, another six died when they tried to stop me leaving."

She looked at me in horror. "You brought me here after killing fourteen templars?"

"Thunder helped!" I pointed out. "He got at least two of them. And as I recall, I didn't want to come at all. You insisted."

"I had no idea that you were a wanted fugitive!"

I raised my eyebrows questioningly. "I'm not a fugitive. I was on a royal mission, with all the relevant legal rights to protect my person. Even the Grand Bitch of Denerim herself admitted as such."

Pickering fingered his sword. "What sort of welcome do you expect?"

"Cool, but not hostile," I told him.

He looked doubtful. "Are you sure?"

Fiona rounded on him. "Of course she's sure!" she snapped. "If someone capable of killing more than a dozen templars without injury…" she paused, turning to me. "You were uninjured, yes?"

"Not a scratch," I confirmed.

She nodded and turned back to Pickering. "…without injury, then when she returns with allies, _you don't act in a hostile manner_!"

I couldn't stop the smirk from flooding my face with self-satisfaction. Fiona had arrived in Ferelden so stiff she practically had a mage's staff up her backside. Now, after only a couple of weeks associating with me, she had released her inner snark. Oh to be a fly on the wall when she got back to Weisshaupt. They probably wouldn't know what to do with her.

Pickering's lips pressed together in disapproval. "No, but you can prepare traps and spring surprises," he pointed out. "My job is to make sure neither of you are hurt."

I reached out and patted his shoulder, noting with some surprise that it was rather high up. It occurred to me that Pickering was actually younger than me, and had experienced a late growth spurt in the past year, fuelled by wholesome and plentiful rations. "It's all right, Pick. I'm not expecting trouble, not with Bryant in charge, but there might be some young hotheads who lost a friend last time. They're not likely to be difficult to handle."

He gave me an odd look at my use of a nickname. "You'll forgive me if I worry just a little bit?"

"Of course," I agreed magnanimously. "By all means, worry away."

Thunder almost rolled his eyes and gave a "Whuff!" of disapproval at the way we were arguing on a wing-swept pier rather than in the relative comfort of a sealed, heated tower. He trotted off towards the main doors.

Before we reached them, they opened again, and Aaron burst out, skidding to a halt. "Er, sorry! I didn't… I mean, I shouldn't have… um, er,"

I waved a hand. "Don't worry about it. Just let us in."

"Er, right!" he said, opening the doors wide.

The entry hall was mostly empty. A templar at the far door was pleading with a second to let him into the tower proper. When the obstinate one saw us, he reached for his weapon, but did not draw it.

"You! What do you want, Warden?" he demanded, his voice echoing in the empty room.

"To speak with the Knight-Commander," I replied, not slowing as I entered. "I wish to introduce him to someone. And we need access to the Circle library."

"And if I refuse?" he demanded. I could hear his sneer under the helmet.

"How'd that work out for you lot last time?"

* * *

><p>Calling their bluff worked. Bluffing when you don't hold any cards rarely works. We were quickly escorted to the Knight-Commander's office.<p>

Bryant stood with his back turned to the door, facing his fireplace. He did not turn when we entered. First Enchanter Irving was also in the room, and he did turn to us. "Welcome back to the Circle, Kathryn," he said serenely. "I am pleasantly surprised at the lack of hostilities on this occasion."

"Thank you, and likewise. How are you, Bryant?"

Bryant sighed deeply, and finally turned around. "Tired." He focused on our templar escort. "That will be all. Dismissed."

"But Ser," the templar objected, "this mage is responsible for the deaths of many templars. It's not safe for you to be alone with-"

"Enough!" Bryant snapped. "I am perfectly safe in Commander Kathryn's presence. Return to your post."

"Ser," the templar replied with a nod and a salute. He turned and exited, disapproval radiating from his frame.

Bryant sighed again, but it was Irving who spoke. "You did not make many friends the last time you were here, Kathryn."

I nodded with a grim expression. "I know. But then, I didn't have all that many to begin with."

He looked me up and down. "You look well. Would you be so kind as to introduce us to your companions?"

"Sorry, yes, of course. This is Fiona, a Grey Warden mage stationed at Weisshaupt. This is Pickering, my escort and bodyguard." I turned to them. "This is Knight-Commander Bryant, late of Lothering and First Enchanter Irving."

Bryant nodded to each. "My apologies for your less-than-civil welcome. Many of the templars stationed here believe that Kathryn cursed the Tower on her last visit."

Fiona bowed slightly. "Thank you, Knight-Commander. It has been many years since I have been to Kinloch Hold. I was hoping to ask a boon of you and the First Enchanter."

Irving smiled. "And that would be?"

"I have been tasked by the First Warden on neutralizing the threat known as the Architect. Commander Kathryn managed to render that need moot, however I do need to compile a comprehensive report. I wish to examine the notes Warden Anders left here after his lecture on the nature of the darkspawn known as the Architect. I would also like to interview some of your senior enchanters for their thoughts and perspectives."

Irving turned to face Bryant. "A worthy study, from my perspective as one who sat through Warden Anders' lecture. I certainly have no objection. Bryant?"

Bryant shook his head distractedly. "No, by all means." He stopped and frowned, gazing at me speculatively. "As a matter of fact, would you please see to it personally, Irving? I have something I need to discuss with Commander Kathryn."

"Ah. As you wish. I shall assist our esteemed guest. It may be that some of our Senior Enchanters remember her from that dreadful business with Remille. I take it that is the reason for your visit?"

"It is, First Enchanter."

"Irving, please my dear. Having spent some time with Kathryn and her blasé attitude towards titles I have become quite accustomed to speaking informally. Shall we?"

I turned to Pickering. "Would you keep an eye on Fiona for me please?"

Pickering flicked his gaze to Bryant for a second before nodding. "As you wish. If you need me, just send word." He turned and followed Irving and Fiona out of the room.

Bryant waved a hand towards the chairs at his desk. "Please, take a seat. They are damned uncomfortable, but at present they're all I have available."

I took one of the vacant chairs. "You look… _really_ tired," I said.

He grunted as he sat down in his own chair. "I am tired. Things have been," he paused, reflecting on his answer, "very difficult."

"How so?"

He rubbed at his eyes. "I was happy at Lothering. Life was simple. I served the Chantry to the best of my ability, and I think the most exciting thing that ever happened was being called to investigate an old widow who would threaten magical retribution upon the village youths who threw stones through her windows."

"Sounds boring," I offered.

From his expression, he appeared not to disagree. "Perhaps. But I was satisfied. I felt that I was doing the Maker's work in my own small way. And then you appeared in my Chantry one day, and life hasn't been the same since."

I gave a soft laugh at that. "The Blight changed a lot of things."

He made a sound of agreement as he clasped his hands together and leaned forward, his elbows resting on his desk. "I had faith that I was doing the right thing; faith that the Chantry was a force for good."

Ah. He was having a crisis of faith. "I take it you no longer feel as such?"

"I feel," he stopped, looking almost scared. "I feel that, perhaps, the Chantry has lost its way."

I swallowed, suddenly more than a little uncomfortable. "Was this before or after you were promoted here?"

He looked directly into my eyes then, something he had avoided doing so far in our conversation. There was a haunted look behind the bland expression. "I do not blame you for that. The Grand Cleric was not pleased at the actions I had taken. And while I followed the letter of the law, she deemed me in violation of my vows." He rubbed his temples. "Had you allowed Ser Conchobar to detain you, worse would have befallen you. And from the stories I heard of your last visit here, had I not been part of the patrol in the Wilds, you'd have destroyed it to the last man to avoid being arrested."

I shifted my weight. The chair was indeed damned uncomfortable. "You might be giving me too much credit there," I offered.

He shook his head. "No. Ser Conchobar is very inflexible. He would not have been able to adjust to your unconventional tactics." He frowned. "And your unconventional ability to shrug off our Holy Smites. You might have been in danger, but I have no doubt that you would have emerged triumphant." He shook his head. "So of all the possibilities, one person spending a few weeks in a dungeon is a rather small price to pay for no deaths."

"Did you rethink your faith then?"

He shook his head. "No. Oh, I thought about a great many things, but my faith was unaffected. I never doubted that I would be exonerated. But I did not expect such an abrupt change of fortune. An Orlesian templar with the political might to countermand the Grand Cleric released me from my cell and promoted me to Knight-Commander on the same day!"

I gave a soft snort of laughter. "I suspect it wouldn't be an everyday occurrence."

Bryant's smile widened momentarily, before disappearing. "No. Not at all. And I was then sent here, to salvage what I could from the mess left behind by Tavish's murder."

"Are you sure it was murder?" I asked; keen as I was to reduce any attention on Zevran. "I mean, is it at all possible that Tavish just fell down the stairs?"

Bryant frowned at me, searching for duplicity. He didn't appear to find any. "No. We have uncovered and arrested his murderer."

I felt a sudden chill. Had someone been railroaded into confessing to a capital crime committed by someone else? "Oh? Who?" I asked as neutrally as possible.

He closed his eyes and sighed. "Connor Guerrin."

The chill turned into an icy river down my spine. "Connor? Seriously? He's what, eleven?"

"Twelve, but his age is not pertinent." Bryant leaned back in his chair, looking much, much older than the last time I'd seen him. "At the time, one of your former companions was suspected. But he had an alibi not even the Divine herself could question."

I gave a soft snort. "He told me about his arrest. Some of your templars were equipping him with the ability of flight in order to explain how he did the deed."

Bryant's expression indicated that he had a similar opinion of the intellectual capabilities of such theorists. "Had Tavish been the only death, I would not have been capable of linking young Connor in any way beyond supposition. However, in the weeks after Tavish's murder, there were two further suspicious deaths. Connor was subsequently apprehended in the act of murdering a fellow student. He has admitted culpability to all four crimes."

I swallowed past the knot in my throat. "Admitted how? Under torture?"

Bryant jerked back as though stung by my accusation. "Maker, no! Even were I amenable to such techniques, it was not necessary. May the Maker forgive, but he was _proud_. Arrogant even. He admitted to all four murders without any persuasion."

"He was… proud," I repeated softly.

"Yes."

I crossed my arms and leaned back in my chair. "That would indicate that Connor had some sort of motive."

Bryant gave me an appraising look. "Very good." He sighed deeply. "And, to the Chantry's great shame, he did have a motive."

Running the conversation back through my head, I made a connection. "Your faith. It is his motive to murder has shaken your faith."

The templar nodded, his face etched with sadness. "Yes. Connor's time here has not been pleasant; far from it. In the course of my investigation, I discovered that before Greagoir's retirement, he was bullied by his peers. But after Tavish was appointed, the abuse worsened horribly."

"Abuse?" I said, praying to the Maker that it wasn't what I suspected.

Bryant sighed. "Tavish was… brutal. In his journals, he describes Arl Eamon's reforms as a personal affront, and he took his frustrations out on the boy as a way to punish the father."

I found my hands clenched into fists under my crossed arms. "This abuse, what form did it take?"

"I hesitate to describe it. Connor was… tortured… sodomized. Regularly. He was physically and magically tormented by both templar and peer, on Tavish's orders." He shook his head. "How anyone could treat another person, let alone a helpless child, in such a way is beyond my understanding. That men who had taken holy vows did so is, well, perverse."

I forced my teeth apart. It took all my will not to snarl when I said, "So, a boy with magical talent must, by Chantry law, submit to a Circle. Where, also by Chantry law, he must submit to templar authority. Is it the Chantry's position that buggering helpless, imprisoned children is an acceptable practice?"

He did not answer right away. That alone sent blood surging to my face.

"It is, isn't it?" I screamed.

He shook his head. "Not… officially. It could never be. But in Tavish's papers I found written authorisation from the Grand Cleric to do whatever he deemed necessary to pressure Arl Eamon to renounce his reforms. It pains me to say it, but I am inclined to believe that he would not have been punished for his actions, had they been known. Indeed, though it horrifies me to my soul, I suspect Tavish's actions would have been condoned."

I felt my respect for Bryant dry up like water drops spilled on a stove. "And what punishment are you going to mete out to the templars and mages who took part in this little 'encouragement by proxy'?"

Bryant winced. "Kathryn, you must understand, I only discovered the extent of the abuse after Connor was arrested."

"In the course of your investigation," I sneered.

"Yes."

"How long ago was Connor arrested?"

"Five weeks."

I blinked, my thoughts confounded by that unexpected answer. "Really? That long ago?"

He nodded. "Yes. I have been meticulous in my investigation. All conspiring parties have been identified and interrogated. The worst offenders have already been sentenced to Aeonar. Many more deserve a cell there, but I cannot operate the Circle safely with any fewer templars than I have left. And the Chantry hierarchy has been most obstinate in delivering replacements for those sent to Aeonar."

I narrowed my eyes. "Really? When I was an apprentice here, if a templar accused someone of being a Blood Mage, the investigation barely consisted of, 'Are you sure?' 'Yes.' 'Right then, schedule an execution.' Why are you being so diligent?"

He slumped, looking much smaller in his armour. "Because when I finally finish my report, I will be duty bound to execute Connor."

Those words caused a rush of renewed respect to flood back into me. "You're not vilifying him, are you? You're _protecting_ him."

He winced. "Not as such. I can't imagine that being kept in a cell unaware of your fate for an extended period is anything but a torture in and of itself. I am simply trying to discern an outcome of this debacle whereby a victim of rape and torture isn't executed."

I pinched my lower lip. "Did Irving…" I didn't finish the question.

Bryant waved a hand. "Yes, he showed me your note. It was a clever ploy, but Irving is canny enough to realise that it was only useful if Connor had been selected for the Rite of Tranquillity. Had Irving used it in an effort to protect the boy from Tavish, the punishments might well have intensified, simply as a way to punish you as well. And while I recognise your Right of Conscription, using it on a twelve year old boy is out of the question, even to save him from the gallows."

I had to agree. The Joining was brutal; grown men failed it regularly. It was highly unlikely Connor would survive it, as young as he was. And I'd need to put him through it immediately if I did recruit him from the gallows. "So what do we do now?"

He gave a growl of frustration and rose to his feet. "I wish I knew. As abhorrent as Tavish's actions were, he was the legal authority in the Circle." He began pacing the width of his office.

I ran my hand down my face, thinking hard. Zevran told me that he spoke to Connor before Tavish died. Had he recruited the lad to assist in his mission? Or had Connor insisted on having the honour of killing his rapist? "Tavish fell down the stairs, or at least, was probably pushed. How did the others die?"

Bryant shuffled some papers on his desk and pulled out a sheet of parchment. "The second was poisoned, though his death was initially thought to be natural causes. After his arrest, Connor taunted us with the nature of the poison; specifically how we had the antidote on hand in great quantity, had we known to use it. He drowned the third in his bath. Specifically, Connor paralysed him and then pushed his head under the water."

I tried hard not to sound impressed. It was bloody difficult. "And the last?"

Bryant shook his head. "The worst. A fellow apprentice. One of his classmates."

I let my mind run back to the last time I spoke to Connor. "Would this student be named Yvonne or Darren?"

Bryant blinked. "Yes. Yvonne, that's right. She had a friend named Darren, but he…" Bryant's features took on a sudden horrified glaze. "Maker no…"

"He died?" I asked rhetorically.

Bryant shook his head slowly, his eyes still focused on the past. "No, but the Rite of Tranquillity was forced upon him. Before I arrived."

"Let me guess. Someone turned up evidence to suggest he was dabbling in Demonology or Blood Magic. He was forced to undergo the Rite while insisting that he was innocent."

The Knight-Commander rubbed at his eyes. "Essentially." He dropped his hands and stared at me. "How did you know? About the names, I mean?"

I shrugged. "Darren and Yvonne were the leaders of the group bullying Connor. If he had been visited by an ex-Antivan Crow and given some instruction or taught some tactics, I can easily imagine that they would be the first on Connor's list."

"Five victims," Bryant whispered, shaking his head.

"How did Yvonne die?" I asked.

"In class. In front of dozens of witnesses."

I felt my scalp tingle at the prospect. "It sounds like he wanted to be caught."

"Yes," he agreed. "They were demonstrating their control of primal fire. Part of the exercise was to exclude a partner from their spell's effective area."

I nodded. "I remember. But as I recall, there were always two healers on hand during those exercises. How did he manage to kill someone with direct access to healing?"

"Many of our more skilled healers are out of the Circle now, assisting in the rebuilding of Ferelden. During the class, Yvonne partnered with Connor, and she deliberately burned him with her spell, while claiming that it was an accident. The Senior Enchanter healed the boy and chastised Yvonne. Then it was Connor's turn." Bryant shook his head. "He had treated her necklace with something akin to naptha the night before. When his spell struck her, the necklace erupted into flame, searing her neck so quickly and deeply that she died before healing could be administered."

Zevran would be impressed. Very impressed. "I see. So, what would you prefer to happen?"

"Connor cannot return to classes. That is a given. If he were not guilty of a capital crime, private tutoring may have been possible. But I cannot see how I can uphold my oath to protect the Circle and not have him executed."

I rubbed my chin. There was another option. But Bryant would be honour bound to stop it. "Could I perhaps have a private chat with him?"

* * *

><p>Bryant escorted me down to the dungeons beneath the Circle. With the exception of the time I'd accompanied Jowan and Lily, I'd never been in this part of the tower before, and I had a brief urge to request time to map the labyrinthine tunnels. From Fiona's story, it seemed that the Deep Roads connected with the tower somehow.<p>

With the Circle's manpower shortage, the only guard was a single templar on the outer doors to the entire prison complex. We were given access, though the guard did plead with the Knight-Commander to let him assemble an escort for us.

Bryant waved that away, insisting that he was perfectly safe in my company.

Connor did not look well. His hair was long, oily and lank. He looked up at our arrival, but did not react in any other way. Not even surprise.

Bryant stopped a couple of paces back from the cell. "Connor, you have a visitor."

Connor's dead eyes just regarded him apathetically before focusing on me. He gave the shallowest nod.

"May I?" I asked, pointing towards the cell.

Bryant's lips pursed, but he nodded. "I will have to take your weapons and potions. Sorry."

I nodded. I wouldn't need them. "I understand. You realise that you are just about the only templar I'd even consider disarming myself for?" I asked, handing over Spellweaver and Spellfury. I started unbuckling my potions bandoleer.

He gave me a wry smile. "I am honoured. Would you prefer me to leave them with the guard at the door or take them with me back to my study?"

I hesitated, but I really wanted to give Bryant reason to trust me. "Take them with you. I will come and see you directly after I speak with Connor." I passed him my bandoleer and my skinning knife.

He nodded. "I shall see to it that you are not disturbed."

"Thank you."

Bryant gave Connor a sympathetic look, before spinning on his heel and walking away.

"Hello Connor," I said softly.

"Hello Arlessa Kathryn," he said in a soft, hoarse voice. "I take it that you are here because of what I did?"

I nodded. "Killing three templars – including the Knight-Commander – is no mean feat. Killing two classmates, not so much."

He didn't react. "One."

"You don't count tricking the templars into making one of them Tranquil counts?"

He shook his head. "Not really. I hoped he'd be executed. But I'm glad someone figured it out. I was beginning to worry that no one would."

I crouched down in a deep squat. "Why would that matter?"

The first flicker of emotion raced across his face. "Because the next time someone tries to bully someone else, maybe they'll think twice about it!" he said hotly. "Or maybe the Enchanters will stop the bullying before someone else dies."

I nodded calmly. "I see. Do you want to die?"

My blunt question caused him to finally focus on my face. "Yes."

"Why?"

He clenched his jaw. "Because I can hear them! All the time. Calling to me! Every night in my dreams the demons whisper to me. They want me to let them in again. They promise that they'll hurt everyone who hurt me."

I sighed deeply. "By the grace of Andraste, I'm so sorry."

He seemed to deflate. "Killing someone stops them talking to me for a while. I can sleep then."

I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Shit." The last thing he needed was to become addicted to killing.

That actually got a small smile out of him. "Mother would be very cross with you for that."

"Oh, I think she'd have plenty of other things to be cross with me for than just my language," I replied with a similar smile.

My heart rose a bit as the small smile endured. "She told me that I was never to associate with you again, the last time she visited. I couldn't wait for you to visit after that." And then, the tiny smile faded. "And then Tavish came."

"Have you told them about the demons?"

"No. Why would I? It would just give them something else to hurt me with."

I had to accept that. "I suppose. How have you been treated since being put in here?"

He shrugged. "Okay. No one has tied me down and, and, and…" he stiffened, and his hands started trembling.

"Shh," I said, slowly reaching out and slipping an arm around his shoulder. "It's all right, Connor. I will not let it happen again."

He clutched at me tightly, his shoulders shaking. But not a single sob escaped him. Not one tear. Such reactions no doubt simply caused harsher punishments.

Even though we were alone, I was still cautious enough that I placed my lips close to his ear to whisper, "What if you could escape?"

The trembling slowly stopped. "This cell?" he whispered back.

"No. The Tower."

He sucked in a breath and jerked out of my arms. "How?"

"Did you get my gift? The mice?"

He frowned. "No. But then, I've not been given anything but some bread and water in here."

I winced. It would take him too long to learn an animal form in the cell. Longer than he had left, given Bryant's limited ability to stretch out his investigation much longer. Perhaps we could kill two demons with the one spell, so to speak.

* * *

><p>"You want to what?" Bryant exclaimed, rising to his feet.<p>

"I want to go into the Fade," I repeated. "There are demons that are tempting him. I want to take him into the Fade, and between us destroy all the demonic bastards attempting to steal his soul."

Bryant glanced towards Irving for support, but the old man just looked intrigued. "What benefit would such a course of action serve?" he asked.

I took a deep breath. "Connor is going to face the Maker soon enough. I'd prefer he did it with his soul as his own. If his will breaks before he is executed, you could well end up with another cock-up that could rank on the Uldred-scale."

"Your colourful rhetoric aside," Irving interrupted calmly, "I'm afraid we do not have the requisite lyrium reserves on hand for such an endeavour."

I gave them a small smile. "That isn't necessary. The Architect had researched the Fade extensively, and developed a method to send people there. It requires the caster to go along for the ride, however." Something the Mother neglected to inform her minion. "As the spell is now Grey Warden lore, Fiona here will need to remain in the Tower and cast the counter spell at a set time."

Irving looked as though I'd just killed his pet. "You cannot share this with the Circle? Having the means to travel to the Fade with just a spell would be extraordinary!"

I glanced at Fiona's disapproving expression. I needed her on side with this. "Normally, I would have no objection. However, Fiona here is Weisshaupt's representative, and knows far more about their policies regarding such matters. I'll have to defer to her."

She looked surprised at that. Very surprised indeed. "Commander Kathryn is quite correct. Such lore needs to be vetted before we can simply release it."

Bryant looked at me speculatively. "Exactly how did you come across this lore? If it does not violate any secrets, that is."

I smiled at his thoughtfulness. "Honestly? A darkspawn mage trapped me and the Wardens with me in the Fade using it. We found the notes on the spell in the Architect's lair."

His eyes narrowed. "How did you escape if your companions were drawn into the Fade too?" he asked intently.

I grinned at him. "Might I just say that it's nice to see someone with brains running this place?"

He gave me a small smile, but said, "Smart enough to know you haven't answered."

I barked a laugh. "True. There is another counter spell that can be cast from within the Fade, however, it takes the life force of someone to power. The darkspawn mage who trapped us was the unlucky bugger that time. It's better for someone outside to pull us back."

He nodded. "I agree with that, but not with the idea itself. Are you sure it's necessary?"

I nodded. "I believe that Tavish was not mindless in his brutality. I believe he was attempting to force Connor into accepting a demon's help, and turning into an abomination."

Fiona gasped. "Why would he do such a thing?"

Irving slumped. "Young Connor has fallen prey to a malicious Fade spirit once before. Had he lost control, it could have been seen as evidence that the new reforms were too dangerous to continue."

"Well, Connor's experiences have made him as hard as silverite. He has been tempted by them for months, and has not given in so far." I didn't mention that murder fulfilled something inside him.

Irving placed his fingertips together, looking thoughtful. "What do you propose?"

I cleared my throat. "I will stand just outside Connor's cell. We will then both go into the Fade together. I will help him overcome the demons tempting him, and hopefully give him peace until his time comes."

Bryant looked at me balefully. "You plan to risk much for him, Kathryn."

I shook my head. "Not so much. I have faced powerful demons in the Fade before. I am confident that I can keep him sane. But, if the worst happens, the abomination will be behind a cell door, and easily contained until it can be destroyed."

Irving rose to his feet. "I shall assist you, Kathryn."

Bugger. "Thank you, but that's not necessary."

His serene tone of voice did not change. "Necessary or not, it is my duty to protect all students of the Circle. I allowed you to face a demon for Connor alone once before. I will not shirk that duty again."

Bryant nodded. "I do not like this, but I cannot fault your bravery or intentions. Irving, you have my thanks for volunteering to assist."

Bloody chivalrous bastards.

[br]

Despite my efforts, I could not dissuade Irving from his plan to help. Pickering also stuck his hand up and demanded to come along to protect me. Fiona agreed to watch over us and pull us out at the nominated time. It was a relief; I would have been most uncomfortable with only templars and Circle mages watching over my insensate form.

Still, I had to fob Irving off somehow. The trouble was that his offer was both logical and sane. Any arguments against it could just as easily be used against my involvement.

The three of us were given thin pallets to lie upon outside of the cell door. Connor's comfort wasn't considered by the templars; not that it a real bother to someone in the Fade, but it made it nicer when you returned to the mortal world.

With final wishes of luck, the outer door was shut and locked, leaving us alone. I hadn't tested the range of the spell, so we were taking no chances with accidentally dragging anyone else along. Pickering and Irving took up their places on the floor.

"Are you ready, my dear boy?" Irving asked Connor.

Connor swallowed, but nodded.

"Normally, such an endeavour would use lyrium," Irving continued, giving him the same redundant lecture he gave me at my Harrowing. He explained that we would be going into the Fade to face the demons tormenting him.

"Enough, Irving," I said as the old man droned on. "He understands. Let's get on with it."

"The Fade is not to be taken lightly," he chided.

I sighed. "He's not taking a Harrowing, he's going into the Fade with two powerful mages, a bodyguard and a mabari as companions. He'll be fine."

Thunder barked an affirmative.

Connor nodded. "Let's go."

Irving sighed. "As you wish. Lie down and prepare for some disorientation."

[br]

I rose to my feet and looked around the Fade, scanning for dangers. Beside me, Irving groaned. Connor and Pickering were on my other side, and Thunder at my feet.

"Good, we're all here."

Connor blinked. "You didn't know?"

I shrugged. "I've never cast that spell before. Best not to take chances."

Pickering glanced around at the surreal landscape. "Um, Comm- Kathryn? What are they?"

I glanced in the indicated direction. Dark shadows approached, dropping the apparent temperature. "Bad thoughts. Nightmares. That sort of thing."

"Right," he replied after swallowing hard.

Connor jumped and looked nervous at the mutable surrounds. "I think I… this place is familiar."

I nodded. "I suspect it is. You are with friends this time. And remember, above all, when we leave, come out of the Fade _alone_."

Irving also rose to his feet, his Fade-self looking far more vigorous than his usual self. "Ah, the Fade always makes me feel alive. Now, what is your real plan, Kathryn?"

I raised an eyebrow at him. "Real plan? What real plan?"

He gave me a stern look. "Don't be coy with me. You wanted to get Connor into the Fade alone. Battling his demons is a convenient excuse, but hardly the real reason. I do hope you do not intend to suggest he remains here. Such an existence would be-"

I gestured towards the approaching darkness. "Can have this discussion later? Connor, Ready your magic please. I want you to target those shadows and cast spells as hard and as fast as you can."

He nodded, and competently, if inelegantly, wove his hands through the prescribed somatic gestures for bursts of cold magic. The first shadow screeched with rage and shuddered.

"Excellent work, my boy," Irving offered. "But try and keep your wrists a little more supple. Like thus," he said, finishing by weaving the same spell with sublime skill and ease. A shadow was destroyed. "Too much tension in your forearms inhibits the flow of mana necessary."

I snickered. "I've always had good results with keeping the last two fingers on your left hand apart. It helps magnify the effect. Like this." A shadow shattered most satisfactorily. Connor gasped.

Irving sniffed. "Show off."

"Why don't you tell us this sort of thing in class?" Connor demanded.

"The Enchanters have to teach the most generic method to appeal to all students, regardless of aptitude," I explained before I gave him a mock glare. "I don't see magic being done, young man."

"Oh, sorry," he mumbled, but began casting spells again. He focused less on elemental magics and more on entropic curses, but he had certainly learned well in his limited time at the Circle.

A desire demon sashayed out of the gloom, running a hand across her full breasts. She opened her mouth in a sultry pout, only to get a face-full of my magic. It petrified her in place. I wrenched power from my surrounds and shattered the demon with a snarl and a prison of pure force. Sodding succubi.

Irving swallowed. "Goodness. Such inelegance does not-"

"Oh shut it, Irving," I snapped. "Let's make a statement, shall we?"

"Yeah!" Connor said loudly, his dead eyes suddenly alight.

Irving glanced from Connor to me, and seemed to find something depressingly familiar in his attitude. "Oh dear."

* * *

><p>With Irving's skill and deep reserves of power combined with my talent for large-scale destruction, none of the minor demons that approached our position were any danger. Connor determinedly, then gleefully, chipped in as he could. A steady stream of suggestions from Irving and me soon had his spells noticeably more effective.<p>

Pickering and Thunder darted in and out as needed, which wasn't often. Generally only when a proper demon made an appearance. I was obliged to slap him on the back of the head the first time he crossed blades with a desire demon. He was a young man after all. And there were fewer stupider things in the universe than an inexperienced young man confronted with a set of exposed tits.

Soon, all the nearby demons were vanquished, though more would take their place if we lingered. I could almost feel Connor's inner darkness calling to them. I settled myself for a moment, breathing deeply to focus my concentration.

"Kathryn? Would you care to enlighten me as to your plans?"

I kept my eyes closed as I shushed him. "Let me see if I can do this first. Otherwise, it's a moot point."

Obligingly, he shut up. I could hear Connor shift nervously from one foot to another, but he also kept his tongue still.

I sent my mind back to the sloth demon's realm created with Niall's life force. I'd learned to shapeshift into different forms there. Hopefully, I could still…

"Woah!" Connor gasped.

I opened my eyes, finding my two companions looked much smaller than they had just moments before. My golem Fade-form was still as impressive as ever. And it made such a satisfying sound when you smashed a stone fist into a stone palm. Shale's constant denigration of inferior, squishy beings was totally understandable. Concentrating, I shifted back.

"Good, I can still do it," I said unnecessarily.

"A remarkable piece of control, Kathryn. Excellent work," Irving congratulated me.

I nodded. "Thank you. I learned to do that when a demon caught us during Uldred's rebellion. It is not exactly magic; the ability must be given, not learned. I suspect that even a non-mage could do it, if they were somehow brought into the Fade."

"Can you teach me?" Connor blurted.

I raised an eyebrow. "What did I just say?"

"Er, oh. You can only give it, not teach it," he mumbled, suddenly looking frightened of me.

"That's right. Now, get ready. I'm going to give you the ability to change."

His eyes widened comically. "Really?"

I gave him a merry grin. "That's the plan. I'm going to give it to you. But not the golem form. This is the form I am going to give you." And with that I used the Fade-shifting ability to turn into a mouse.

Despite the fact that he was a little dejected at only gaining the ability to turn into a mouse rather than a much more impressive golem, he diligently focused on the task at hand. I felt a bit of a wrench as I lost the ability, but I certainly felt relieved when Connor proved capable of performing the magic.

As the young apprentice practiced shifting between his Fade-self and Fade-mouse, Irving drew close. "I take it this is a component of your plan? As intriguing as this ability is, it is only of use when you control your surroundings in the Fade."

"It wouldn't be necessary if someone had given him the mice I sent."

He frowned in confusion. "The mice? Oh yes, we received those. Such animals are not permitted on the island. I'm afraid that they were confiscated and destroyed. Ever since the Tower's last mouser died we need to keep the vermin population down ourselves."

"Mr. Wiggums wasn't it? I heard he took out three templars after being possessed by a rage demon." You know, it sounded really stupid now that I thought about it.

"Goodness! Who told you that?"

I grimaced at my gullibility and waved that away. "Never mind."

"As you wish. Now, your plans? I believe I have been patient enough."

I took a deep breath. If Irving took this the wrong way, I may well be obliged to find out if my magic was a match for his. Or at least have Pickering stab him in the back. "I want to give Connor the ability to escape the Tower."

Irving's lips pursed. "You wish to offer him the life of a fugitive apostate?"

It was a neutral statement, offering no hint to his opinion. I turned to face him. "No. He want's to die, Irving. I wish to offer him a choice, nothing more."

"I see. By insisting on accompanying you into the Fade, I have unwittingly made myself into an accomplice."

I looked over at Connor, whose face was alight with joy at the new sensations of magical forms. "Tell me that you think executing him is justice."

"It is not that simple, Kathryn."

"Typical," I sneered. "I knew you were too much of a coward to take a stand one way or another."

He gave me a speculative look. "Perhaps we should turn the question around, then. Do you think he should escape punishment for murdering a classmate?"

I nodded. "I think what he has endured was punishment enough. Besides, it was most likely that ongoing abuse that set him upon the course to murder."

Irving sighed. "I cannot condone what happened to him, Kathryn. Just as I cannot condone his actions against Yvonne. Vengeance is not justice."

I stared up into his tired eyes. "And when someone cannot get justice? What then? When it is those in power who are in the wrong? In those cases, vengeance is the only alternative to perpetual victimisation."

Irving let out a slow breath. "I wish you were wrong." He shook his head. "Philosophical differences aside, how do you intend to enable Connor to escape his confinement? I assume the ability to turn into a mouse in the Fade has something to do with it?"

I nodded. "He needs intimate knowledge of that form before we leave."

"Oh? Why?"

"Because now I'm going to teach him to assume that form back in the mortal realm."

* * *

><p>Watching the First Enchanter become almost childlike in his enthusiasm to learn a completely unknown form of magic was unnerving. I discussed the basics of the theory with him as Connor continued to practice swapping forms. Irving's powerful intellect quickly absorbed the concepts involved.<p>

That helped immeasurably when it came time to teach Connor the discipline. Irving was a powerful spellcaster, a pacifist and a scholar at heart, but first and foremost, he was a teacher. He could take my disjointed and complex instructions and turn them into clear and concise steps.

The instruction took several hours; mostly because of the constant demonic interruptions.

Demons still gravitated towards Connor. Mostly they were minor irritations, which Thunder and Pickering were quite capable of dispatching with minimal assistance. But we were confronted by a few more powerful specimens. Two hunger demons presented us with a moderate challenge. A sloth demon had the potential to be dangerous, but I convinced it that we were too much effort for the reward. With only words too, much to Irving's surprised approval.

But the worst was another little familiar creature from my past. Without the constraints placed upon it by the Harrowing ritual, the pride demon I'd called Mouse was exceedingly dangerous.

Had it not been for its nature, it may have killed us. But its 'pride' wouldn't allow it to simply sneak up on us as a tiny rodent, assume its natural form and lay waste to an unsuspecting group.

Not when it could gloat and proclaim its superiority first.

Connor screamed when the twelve-foot tall monstrosity appeared nearby.

Mouse basked in the sound. "Ah, it seems that you have grown incautious in your dotage, old friend," it said to Irving.

"It has been quite some time since my Harrowing, yes. But I am not a helpless apprentice now," the First Enchanter replied, easing himself in front of Connor.

As they talked, I passed Spellfury to Connor so that he would have a weapon other than his magic.

"Apprentice, no. But helpless? You are not protected by the ritual I am bound to. I can take any action I desire." It turned to face me as I moved closer. "Ah, the Grey Warden. You escaped my influence once. I shall not allow such an insult to stand."

"Wow. I'm impressed by that level of self-deluded optimism," I replied.

"I shall enjoy consuming your soul," it snarled.

I glanced at my companions. Irving was as serene as possible, given the circumstances, but Connor was trembling. Pickering was almost petrified with surprise and terror, but Thunder was crouched and ready.

I sighed. Not having Alistair or Oghren to hold a line meant that it was up to me.

The demon addressed the lad. "You are known to us, boy. It is time for you to accept the gifts offered to you."

Despite the danger we were in, and his vibrating knees, Connor spat, "Piss off you bastard!"

"That's my boy!" I shouted and threw myself into my golem form. That surprised the demon enough that I managed to get the first slug in, smashing an uppercut into its jaw. It staggered back a step before swiping at me with its jagged-edged forearms. The blow smashed into my side, splintering shards of rock from my torso.

In the battle that followed, Irving was obliged to focus entirely on his magic, leaving out the little hints and tips he was constantly giving Connor; and leaving me to do the heavy lifting.

It was painful to stand toe-to-toe with a gigantic, powerful demon; one that towered over even my current impressive form. It would have been worse had Irving not managed to temporarily petrify it on occasion. Still, I had to keep it away from Connor and Irving, and trust that the First Enchanter could wear it down before it pummelled me into gravel.

Thunder would bark and snarl, but kept away from Mouse's dangerous swings. Out of the corner of my eye I saw him sudden bound away. A feminine scream indicated that he had found a new playmate that was trying to use the big bastard as a distraction.

Pickering unlimbered his crossbow and began peppering Mouse with bolts. He had to drop the bow at one point to help Thunder with other minor demons, however. His wide-eyed expression suggested that he was rethinking his enthusiasm for adventure.

Connor even got into the spirit of things. He took his mouse form and scurried off to one side, out of the pride demon's line of sight. He'd then bombard it with distracting spells and powerful pulses of magic from my staff while Irving lashed out with a display of focused magical destruction that even I found impressive. He barely touched me as I wrestled the gigantic demon.

I reached out and grabbed the spines on the demon's left arm and hauled backwards. It lost its balance, but smashed its right arm down hard on my leg as it fell forward. We both fell to our knees. Now that neither of us were able to move, I leaned back and took a leaf out of Oghren's book; slamming my stone head forward directly onto Mouse's snout.

It collapsed under my attack, but pain flashed through my head.

Mouse screamed and clutched at its mouth. I pulled back and launched a haymaker, smashing my stone fist hard into the back of its hands, snapping its head back.

A gigantic backhanded swipe sent me sprawling.

Mouse rose to its feet and towered over me. I lashed out with my good leg, kicking low. I caught it on the knee and once again dropped it to the ground.

Irving shouted and finally the demon froze solid. I got to my knees and grabbed a hunk of Fade-stone. With all my strength, I hurled it at Mouse.

The stone shattered just as the petrification ended. Mouse screamed in agony, but staggered back upright.

I followed suit, with a little more staggering. With a limping charge, I dove at Mouse's legs, bringing him down once again. Hitting the ground hard seemed to do more damage to large creatures than small, so who was I to argue with natural laws.

I rolled over and onto Mouse's body, gripping its neck with one hand. I landed exactly one powerful punch before it flexed and hurled me away, hitting the ground hard.

I collapsed back, letting my body return to its usual form. "Ow," I said clearly.

Connor raced over to me, skidding to a halt on his knees. "Arlessa Kathryn!" he shouted, reaching for my shoulders. "Are you all right?"

I grabbed hold of his own shoulder and allowed him to haul me into a sitting position. "I doubt it."

Mouse roared and charged at us. I weaved my hands and cast a petrification spell. The demon stiffened and fell over, unable to halt its momentum. I gripped Spellweaver's hilt and drew the weapon.

"Time to die," I told Mouse, and limped over. My spell wore off just as I jammed my sword into its throat. In the midst of its burbling scream of rage, Irving hit it with a powerful jolt of electricity, causing it to jerk and flex. Unfortunately, the spell grounded itself through me, hurling me backwards.

In my helpless state, I vaguely made out Thunder appear in front of me, protecting his mistress. It was a nice gesture.

I heard a scream and then a shout. I shook my head to clear it, just in time to see Pickering ride Mouse's head just as Sigrun had ridden the dragon. His sword was buried in Mouse's eye socket.

Slowly, the tableau unravelled. Mouse fell forward, dead. Its fall meant that Pickering experienced the same sort of leverage as Oghren, if not to the same degree. He ended up several yards away in a heap of tangled limbs.

Irving stood stooped over, his hands on his knees for support. "That was… rather difficult."

I shared a glance with Connor and rolled my eyes. He gave me a grin with a manic edge, and I realised that he was starting to believe he might survive after all.

"Right," I said, rising unsteadily to my feet. "Sorry about that, Irving. It looks like you're going to have to bind another demon for your Harrowings."

"That is… quite all right… Kathryn," he wheezed. "It was… past due."

* * *

><p>After Mouse's demise, we sat for a while to regain our wind and heal. Pickering's wounds were tended to quickly and competently by Irving. Connor looked at the First Enchanter with a lot more respect. Once our breathing had returned to normal, I suggested continuing our lesson.<p>

After a few hours, I believed that both Connor and Irving could use the shapeshifter spells competently. I gave them all of Morrigan's warnings, that any form you take be understood completely. Irving immediately declared that he was going to get a pet bird to study. I suggested a duck, to Connor's amusement. And while Connor now had the knowledge of the mouse form, he'd need to practice being in that form for long periods before he would be used to it.

As we waited for Fiona to pull us from the Fade, I told Connor the story of how I was recruited. How Jowan and I made our way down through the bowels of the Tower to find and destroy his phylactery. I made sure I described the path under the Tower very accurately.

Irving sighed deeply, but did not interfere.

I then explained that Pickering, Thunder and I were leaving the Circle the next day, but I was planning on camping a mile or so down the road towards Redcliffe for a few days. His grin told me that he understood what I expected of him.

I just hoped that Irving would let the boy go.

* * *

><p>I cracked an eyelid open and groaned. "How long?"<p>

"Half a day, as you requested," Fiona supplied. "Here. Water."

I managed to grasp the goblet and sip. "The others?"

Bryant answered from behind her. "They are waking now. Did you succeed?"

I gave a rough chuckle. "Oh yes. I suspect Connor is not in danger any more. He's probably not considered an easy prospect now. The lad even stood up to a pride demon and shot spells at it."

"A pride demon?" Fiona gasped.

Bryant looked suitably impressed. "You defeated a pride demon? Impressive."

I would have grinned at him had I not still been a bit woozy. "And some hunger demons, a bunch of desire demons and lots of rage demons. We got a bit carried away towards the end there. I suspect demons are going to be a bit thin on the ground around the Tower in the near future."

o_ooo000ooo_o

AN: Thanks to my reviewers - Nate88, Ie-maru, Pintsizedpsyhco, Isabeau of Greenlea, MB18932, anon, timunderwood9, forget the rest, Arsinoe de Blassenville, MemoriesoftheForgottenGuardi an, unanimously anonymous. mostly, SgtGinger, Van0726 (x3), Bhoddisatva and Shinkansen.


	26. Knight takes Warden Check

disclaimer type=standard

Anything you recognise is Bioware's. I dare say anything else belongs to them too.

/disclaimer

o_ooo000ooo_o

"Is that possible?" the Seeker asked, her curiosity piqued. The idea that the Fade occupied a sort of parallel plane was a long standing theory; indeed there was proof in the Warden's tale that places in the mortal realm had locations mirrored in the spirit world. But the possibility of demons being thinned out in an area… It could revolutionize how Magi Circles were kept safe from demonic influences.

"Of course it is," Kathryn replied in an offhand manner. "We periodically send teams of Wardens into the Fade at Soldier's Peak and Vigil's Keep to slaughter demons. It's good training, and keeps it safe to conduct magical experiments that would draw them out."

Cassandra paled. "You- you train your Wardens by fighting demons?" she blurted, shocked to the core.

The elf gave a nonchalant shrug. "Why not? They're dangerous, sentient foes – capable of strategy and tactics. Anyone who can look a desire demon in the chest and still stick an axe in its head isn't going to be distracted in battle against darkspawn. And anyone who's smacked down a pride demon isn't going to be fazed by a charging ogre."

Cassandra rubbed at her forehead, unable to fully articulate her horror. "But that is absurd! What if one of them perished in the Fade? Their soul would be lost forever!"

The mage tilted her head to one side. "Is that official Chantry dogma?"

"I, what? I have no idea. The question has never been considered! The idea is absurd!"

Kathryn snickered. "Well, that's probably why everyone seems to have reservations about facing my Wardens in battle. Demons can think, adjust and react. Honing your armscraft on them is difficult and truly testing. It works, though. We do seem to be able to hold our own against most foes."

Now that was an understatement. Cassandra was fully cognizant of the Ferelden Grey Wardens' reputation. "Well, does that make the mages in your Circle safer?" Anything that could be used in negotiations for a truce between the mages and Chantry would be useful.

"For the non-Warden mages, sure. Many apostates return to Soldier's Peak less for the safety from the Chantry than consistent, uninterrupted sleep. A lot refuse to join the Wardens because they are life-long, self-reliant loners, but a few weeks of sleep without demons whispering temptations in your ear do wonders for your mood."

Cassandra paused to digest that. The idea, despite the tremendous risks involved, did offer many opportunities. She would need to think on it; perhaps pen a monograph for the Divine to peruse. "Did the apprentice Connor manage to escape? I have not heard any word of him. Not since his disappearance from the Circle."

Kathryn gave her a grin. "Yes you have."

The Seeker hesitated. The Warden had used those words before, when she had asked about the fate of her man Pickering. "What do you mean?"

"Exactly that. You certainly have heard of Connor."

Biting back her initial retort, Cassandra took a deep breath and calmly replied, "Not by that name."

"True. If I continue my story, you might pick up on his fate."

Cassandra sighed. "Very well."

o_ooo000ooo_o

The next morning, Aaron rowed Pickering, Thunder and I over to the shore with far less terror than he'd exhibited the previous day. It was a much more comfortable (not to mention drier) trip, all though Thunder appeared a little disappointed at how little the templar reacted to his toothy grins.

We collected one of our wagons from the inn and loaded it up. I made sure all of Fiona's belongings were placed in the other wagon. I was surprised to find myself a little bit sad; despite our initial disagreements and differences, I found that I actually sort of liked her. Well, the snarky, cynical person she'd become in the last week or so.

We trundled away to the south along the coast of the lake. Once we were a few miles away, Pickering spoke up.

"Is it really a good idea to help Arl Eamon's son escape the Circle? I mean, I know why you did it, but won't it make trouble for you?"

I took a deep breath. "Probably. But that boy has suffered a lot for the sins of others. Leaving him there for an inevitable execution was out of the question. As was directly breaking him out. I gave him the tools to escape himself, if that's what he wants. I will deal with the consequences as and when they come."

Pickering nodded. "What about Ser Bryant? Or the First Enchanter? Won't Connor's escape end up being a problem for them? And what if he escapes while Warden Fiona is still in the Tower? Won't she be blamed?"

I shrugged helplessly to cover my satisfaction that he was proving to be much more thoughtful and insightful than the usual armed thug. "I just don't know, Pick. But don't worry about Bryant or Irving. Let's just say that the letters that Tavish left behind give them a fair bit of protection. The Chantry will not want the crown finding out what's in them."

He swallowed. "A conspiracy, I take it?"

"Something along those lines," I agreed. "I get the feeling that Bryant isn't so hung up on his vows that he'd take the fall for someone who would agree to treating a child like that. If the priests in Denerim try to punish him, I suspect Eamon will get a copy of Tavish's papers and effects. The shit will really fly then."

He shook his head. "So what are we going to do?"

I scratched at my chin. "Well, we'll find a likely camp site and stay put for a couple of days. If Connor catches up with us, so be it. If not, then he's as good as dead."

"Arl Eamon won't be happy."

I shook my head. "No. No he won't be. And I wouldn't blame him."

Pickering looked down, as though ashamed. "I… I really hope Connor gets out. No one deserves that."

"Me too," I agreed, patting him on the shoulder.

He didn't seem to be able to let it go. "What are you going to do with him? He can't show up in public ever again."

I nodded. "Not right away, no. But later, who knows. First thing is to get him to a safe place."

"Soldier's Peak then." It wasn't a question.

I smiled at him. "Very good. Yes, I'll get him to the Peak. He should make a satisfactory assistant for Dagna. As a noble, his education would have included estate administration."

He still looked uncomfortable. "Soldier's Peak is a long way away," he pointed out. "Especially for us, as we're limited by the walking speed of an ox. I don't think we could make it before they discover he's gone and mount a pursuit."

"True. In that case, your standing orders are for you to take Connor east while I draw any pursuit off. He should be able to turn into a mouse, which will make it easier to conceal him."

His face screwed up into a mask of anguish. "But," he started.

I held up a hand. "I can do something similar. The templars won't be able to catch me."

He bit his lip. "Mice can't really run all that fast. And if they've got your blood thing, they could track you quickly."

"Phylactery," I corrected. "And no, my mouse form isn't my only form."

"As impressive as it is, your stone giant form wouldn't be able to move too fast either. And it's a bit on the conspicuous side."

I snorted. I hadn't even considered that. "No, I can't turn into a golem outside of the Fade. But a mouse isn't the only animal I can turn into. I could outrun any pursuit quite easily."

That piqued his interest. "Can you show me?"

I gave him a grin and tossed him the reins. I then shifted into the form of a mabari. Thunder barked in amusement at his expression. "Well?" I asked after returning to my base form.

He coughed. "I, er, I guess you could outrun them."

I punched his arm. "You guess?"

"Fine," he mock grumbled. "You could easily outrun them."

I turned to look over my shoulder. Kinloch Hold was still visible through the trees lining Lake Calenhad. Of course, the top of the tower was visible for a good third of the journey to Redcliffe. Not that it made much difference; there were few windows in the place. Historically, the templars didn't want mages looking out and fantasizing about the outside world. "I don't want to head down the road too far. Let's make camp soon."

"That's going to look a bit suspicious," Pickering warned.

I shrugged. "Let it look. We'll head east in three days or when Connor reaches us. Which ever happens first."

* * *

><p>We set up camp at the next clearing. Despite the accessibility to the lake's fish and the road, it did not show signs of much use. Being less than three miles from the Spoiled Princess was probably the reason.<p>

Still, it was a comfortable spot, and we put up our tents with a minimum of fuss and bother. Thunder scouted around and returned with a fox hanging out of his mouth. I showed Pickering how to skin it, saving the scalp and tail. Thunder was pleased with the result, and proceeded to chow down on the remains without the bothersome fur getting in the way. His powerful jaws crunching through bone, gristle and flesh with equal ease.

Once the camp was erected, Pickering and I sparred lightly for a few hours. He was picking up some very good habits, making his defence harder to pierce. A few travellers passed on the road, giving us the odd glance. We broke for a midday meal, sitting and eating in companionable silence looking out over the lake.

Thunder's ears pricked up, and he dropped the stick he had been holding in hope for the last ten minutes of our meal. He turned to face the road towards Kinloch Hold.

Pickering and I shared a glance. "Connor didn't mess around," I said softly with a grin.

"Hmm," Pickering hummed, expressing neither agreement nor disagreement.

We rose to our feet in time to see a pair of templars on horseback bearing down on our camp. They hauled back on the reins hard, causing their mounts to almost skid on the dusty road.

"Warden-Commander!" one bellowed in a raw, wavering voice. "By the authority of the Chant-"

"By the Maker, shut up!" his companion hissed.

"What?"

"I said shut up," the second templar repeated. He pulled off his helmet, revealing the face of a middle-aged man with a thick moustache. "Warden-Commander Kathryn Surana," he continued formally in a far more pleasant tone of voice. "We have been tasked with tracking down an apostate mage of your acquaintance."

I raised an eyebrow at their antics. "An apostate of my acquaintance?" I repeated with as much honest confusion as I could inject into my voice. "All my Warden mages are not apostates."

The polite templar nodded. "Indeed. Apprentice Connor Guerrin escaped from custody sometime last night. His phylactery was found broken. A search of the tower showed no sign of the boy."

The first templar looked like he wanted to say something, but held his tongue. A pity. It probably would have been entertaining.

"I see," I said evenly. "I take it that as I spoke with the boy just yesterday that I am a suspect in abetting his escape?"

The templar swallowed nervously, but nodded. "In a manner of speaking. The Knight-Commander charged Initiate Harold and I to seek you out and search your party."

I narrowed my eyes. "Did he now?" Thunder growled; deep, low and threatening.

Both templars suddenly drew back, radiating fear. "Only as a precaution. He was categorical that you could not have assisted, as you were in his presence for much of your visit. However, all avenues of escape need to be explored."

I sighed as though it were a huge imposition. "Very well. As you can see, only my bodyguard, mabari and I are here. But feel free to examine our camp if you feel it necessary to assuage the Knight-Commander's honour."

Thunder abruptly trotted over towards the horses and sat a few yards away, still as a statue and just as patient. The animals shifted warily under his gaze.

"Why have you made camp so close to the Circle?" the youth named Harold demanded hotly, not looking at my mabari.

"Harry! Will you shut up!" the older templar whined.

Pickering, his expression perfectly neutral, jerked his head to one side, towards our ox. "Bobby there pulled up lame. Figured giving him a break would be best," he grunted gruffly.

I glanced towards the animal, noting that Pickering had, at some point, wrapped one leg with what appeared to be a compress. He really was a clever chap. I wouldn't have thought to do something like that.

"I see. Thank you," the polite templar said with a pointed glare at his companion. Both dismounted and began a thorough search of our camp. It helped that there were two dirty plates and two half-empty mugs.

They took their time, looking all around the camp for signs of a third person, only avoiding Thunder. He would growl deeply whenever one or the other strayed too close. Eventually, even the youth appeared satisfied that Connor wasn't hiding with us.

"Thank you for your cooperation, Warden-Commander," the older templar said.

"Why are you travelling south and not east?" Harold blurted; his tone accusing and finger pointing away from the lake. "Your lands are that way!"

The older templar rolled his eyes and moved his lips in a silent prayer. "You are on report, Initiate!" he snapped.

"But Ser Allan," he whined.

"But nothing! The movements of the nobility are not your concern." He turned to me. "My apologies, Warden-Commander. With your leave?"

I nodded mutely at the unexpected civility. Ser Allan bowed and returned to his mount, gesturing at his companion to do the same. They mounted and rode off, with only the youth turning in the saddle to glare at me one last time.

"Well that was interesting," I said once I judged them out of earshot. "Connor? You can come out now." Thunder rose to his feet and moved backwards a couple of steps, revealing a small lump of fur.

Pickering looked at me questioningly before he gasped at the sudden shimmering in the air right in front of Thunder. "How did you know I was here?" Connor asked after resuming his true form.

I grinned at him. "What better way to catch up with me than hitching a ride with the templars charged with tracking me down? Good boy for guarding him Thunder."

Thunder barked happily.

Connor gave a wry smile. "He just about sat on top of me after I jumped off the horse." He shrugged. "I didn't want to risk hiding in a pocket or under their armour. Sorry I took so long, but I was very cautious. Honestly, after you spelled out how to escape in front of First Enchanter Irving, I was surprised that there wasn't an ambush waiting for me."

I nodded in sympathy. "I guess Irving thinks that he'd prefer you to be a free fugitive than a dead apprentice."

Connor seemed to accept that. He looked around and breathed deeply. "Oh, I've missed just standing out of doors."

I nodded to Pickering, and he began to break camp. "Well, you'll get to spend a lot of time outside now. You won't be able to visit your father or mother; not for a while at least. Or anyone who would recognise you, in fact."

He nodded, suddenly very sober. "I know. I can go west I guess. I can speak Orlesian well enough."

I snorted. "Don't be absurd. You're coming with me. You still need magical training, and I've got just the place for you to get it."

He blinked at me. "Really?"

"Of course. You don't really think I'd let you just wander off, do you? You have a talent we need to develop. And you being safe will bring your parents a great deal of peace."

He blinked his eyes rapidly as they began to glisten. "I… Thank you, Arlessa Kathryn."

I slipped an arm around his shoulders. "You are welcome, Connor. Come on. Let's get this camp broken down and we can take you to your new home."

* * *

><p>Less than an hour later we were trundling north back towards Kinloch Hold. Connor stayed in his mouse form as we approached it. We passed the tower and continued along the highway. No one approached us, but we felt the proximity keenly. We kept moving long into the night.<p>

I kept the road in front of us lit with sprites, and we gnawed on jerky to stave off the hunger from missing the evening meal. Connor spent his 'human' time quiet for the most part, though he would ask questions at odd intervals.

I explained to him about my new Circle at Soldier's Peak. He remembered Dagna, incandescently enthusiastic dwarf women being quite memorable in a mage circle, but not Daylen. He stiffened as I explained that Jowan was also stationed there, but assured him that the place was large enough that he never had to interact with his old tutor if he chose not to.

Near midnight, we neared a campfire set off the highway fifty yards or so. The sentry on watch made some noise at our approach, but those in the camp seemed to settle down as we approached the point on the road closest to the camp. Once we passed that point without incident, the camp quietened down almost immediately.

"Nervous folks," Pickering observed around a yawn.

I grunted. "A merchant train, perhaps? They'd be a bit cautious around anyone travelling at night."

"True," he said. "Although, I wouldn't have thought the activity would have died down so quickly. It was like they were trying to pretend not to be there."

I chuckled softly. "They should probably put out that great big fire if that's the case."

The wagon rolled steadily on for a while longer before Thunder's ears pricked up and he raised his head. He stared back along the road behind us, a low, warning growl emanating from his throat.

"Connor!" I hissed softly, shaking the lad awake. "Shift into a mouse and hide, now!"

He blinked owlishly at me momentarily before shimmering into the tiny form. He burrowed under the food sacks in the wagon. I placed a hand on Thunder's collar.

At the edge of my hearing I could make out a sort of panting whimper. Heavy footsteps drew nearer, but only one set. Whoever it was, they were running to catch up.

Our stalker was an emaciated figure, with torn clothes and long, scraggily hair and beard. He staggered closer with an odd, limping gait. He held an unloaded crossbow in one hand, and a single bolt in the other. He carried no quiver.

"Help!" he croaked. "By Our Lady Andraste, please help!"

I blinked at the voice. "Keenan?" I blurted.

He stopped abruptly, almost falling over in his haste. "C-commander?" he gasped.

I stared at my missing Warden completely dumbfounded. After a couple of seconds, I shook off my shock and leapt down from the wagon. Thunder joined me.

"Where have you been?" I demanded.

"Please," he whimpered, falling to his knees. "Help me! They're trying to get me again!"

The smell of his unwashed body washed over me as I approached. His clothes were stained with dried faeces. I almost retched. "Who?" I asked. "Who did this to you?"

He pointed back over his shoulder. "Them," he replied unhelpfully, his voice filled with despair.

Before I could speak, I heard noises in the distance. "Whoever it is, they're not taking one of my Wardens. Thunder, to me! Pick, take the wagon on a bit further, and guard our cargo." I didn't want Connor near this.

Fortunately, Pickering didn't argue. He flicked the reins and the wagon started rolling away. Keenan whimpered, clutching at his knees. Not knowing what else to do, I cast a healing spell at his legs. He gasped, but his pained cries softened.

"Load your crossbow," I ordered, readying Spellfury.

"Yes, Commander," he replied. With a trembling hand, he hauled back on the draw and slotted the bolt into the weapon. "I'm sorry. For everything."

"We'll talk later," I insisted, trying to make out the distance between us and Keenan's tormenters.

Keenan pulled a small leather tote from a pocket, and tore the cork out with his teeth. He lifted it high, emptying it into his mouth. A thin dribble of liquid dripped out onto his tongue. He swallowed, drew a breath, sighed, and then stood a little straighter.

"Is that one of your pain relief potions?" I asked, wondering why he still had even the dregs of one still in his possession if he had been held captive.

"The last of it. I'm so sorry."

"It's okay, Keenan. We can-"

He shook his head. "It's not okay. I'm sorry."

And with that, I watched as, with glacial slowness, the crossbow dropped low. As I fought for control over my non-responsive body and my mouth to open and scream, Keenan pulled the trigger.

Thunder yelped involuntarily as the bolt buried itself in his spine.

* * *

><p>By the time I was capable of registering what was happening, Keenan was gone and my hands were covered in Thunder's hot blood. I cupped the base of the bolt protruding grotesquely from his back, trying to will the wound closed. Through my tears I could see his doggy expression of confusion at why his rear legs were lying splayed along the ground.<p>

Despite their coating of gore, my hands were glowing blue with all the healing power I possessed.

"Kathryn!" a voice shouted in my ear.

I looked up, confused at the sound. Pickering knelt in the dirt beside me, his anxious expression cast in sinister shadow by the light of my magic.

I couldn't make out what he wanted.

He slapped me.

"Kathryn! Focus!" he demanded.

I touched my stinging cheek, smearing it with blood. "I… Thanks. I needed that."

He slumped in relief. "Come on, we need to go. That man set us up for an ambush. They're coming now; listen!"

I looked down at Thunder, my heart wrenching at his piteous whining. The red of the bloody wound suddenly filled my world. "No."

"Kathryn! We must…"

I looked back up at Pickering and fought back a growl. "No! Stay with Thunder and Connor and keep them safe." I felt as though someone else was using my face. "I will _deal_ with this ambush."

The snarl on my face caused him to flinch back and nod quickly. With grunts from both man and dog, he hefted Thunder up onto his shoulder. Had I been thinking clearly, I'd have been impressed at the effort. "All right. Good luck," he offered.

I nodded, angrier than I'd ever been in my entire life. I pulled Spellfury off my shoulder and ripped off my potion bandoleer, handing them to him. "Potions for Thunder and a weapon for Connor," I spat shortly. I was not going to be using a staff in this battle. I wanted to feel flesh part beneath my blade. I wanted to feel hearts stop beating on Spellweaver's tip.

I rose and charged down the dark road towards the voices. Every step made me angrier.

"KEENAN!" I shouted in a battle cry that even Alistair would have been proud of.

My elf-vision aided me well. I spotted a handful of man-sized, armoured figures on the road, one holding tight to Keenan's silhouette. They all moved quickly to battle-ready stances at the sound of my approach.

A fireball scattered them like flies under a swatter.

The spell wasn't powerful; casting while at a dead sprint stripped you of the fine control necessary for truly powerful spells. But the effect had their defensive formation broken. I fell upon the group with a vengeance.

If I hadn't been in a berserk rage I probably would have noticed that they were not alone.

I inelegantly thrust Spellweaver's tip through the first man's breastplate with a steely, grating rasp before the first Holy Smite struck. I grunted at the unexpected mystical force, but forced it away.

I kicked my first victim off my sword and swung at the next. He caught my wild, arcing swing on his shield and stepped back as the next Holy Smite crashed down around me.

I pushed through it and leapt forward, shoving the warrior as he tried backpedalling. He went over in a metallic clatter.

Another Smite struck, and then another. I dropped to one knee involuntarily under the assault. How many were there?

In my peripheral vision, I saw two kilted figures approach. I lashed out and around, cutting deep into their shins. They fell screaming.

Another Smite hit. This one I barely felt. My unexpected assault had scattered their focus.

"She's not falling!" a panicked voice cried.

I rose and charged again, trying to scream my defiance. But I had no breath. Belatedly, I realised that I'd been screaming all this time. I drew a deep breath as I closed with another pair of shadowy figures.

"Stand aside," a soft, cultured voice said calmly.

My sword smashed down on the warrior's shield. I drew back for another shot when my world erupted with white light.

The Holy Smite was a step above and beyond any Oghren or Alistair could produce. The mind behind it was tight, focused and incredibly disciplined. I screamed as the energy flooded my body and stripped my power.

In the contrasting darkness that followed, I dropped helpless to my knees, and then face down on the road.

There was silence for a few moments, with only my laboured gasps breaking it.

"Bring her back to camp. Quickly!" the cultured voice ordered.

Someone pulled Spellweaver from my nerveless fingers. My helmet and gauntlets followed. I tried biting the hands as they came close, but after a surprised curse, a pungent-smelling cloth was pressed over my mouth and nose. I recognised the smell immediately, and tried struggling anew.

The magebane-infused cloth made me lethargic, even in the emotion-charged situation. I slumped under its foul influence.

Rough hands gripped my arms and hauled me up. I tried to struggle, but my body wouldn't respond.

"I thought for a moment that it wasn't her," the man on my right said. "I've never seen a mage ignore Holy Smites before."

The man on my left grunted. "That fire show at the beginning didn't tip you off?" he asked sourly.

"It ruined my night vision, I know that much."

Another grunt. "She's dangerous."

"Agreed."

The pair fell silent as they dragged me down that long, dark road.

* * *

><p>Metallic manacles snapped shut around my wrists. I forced my eyelids open, and the blurry form standing over me coalesced into a familiar figure. "Ah, Warden-Commander. I have some questions for you."<p>

"Sod off," I whispered automatically.

Knight-Commander Darrian nodded, as though expecting that exact response. "Just what were you doing travelling at night, hmm?" He ran his hands over my breastplate, searching in the darkness for my usual decorations. "No staff? No potions? No bodyguard? Very interesting."

I looked down at my wrists. A bar of silverite almost two feet long connected the steel manacles. In the light of the campfire I could make out lyrium-inscribed runes etched into stones embedded in the metal, but I did not recognise the designs.

"Those runes prevent you from accessing your magic," Darrian explained. "Inscribing them on an object small enough to be portable is a recent development, and a welcome one. Constructing a transportable, mana-damping cell around you would have been logistically challenging."

A templar approached us. "Knight-Commander, the camp is almost broken down. We will be ready to march within the hour."

Darrian nodded, his eyes still focused on me. "Thank you, Knight-Captain. We leave as soon as the strike team returns."

I frowned at the response. I would expect a painfully formal man like Darrian would know the names of his squad. "No names, eh?" I wheezed. "Afraid I'll tattle when I escape?"

He reached up and rubbed his chin, his attention returning to me. "A precaution I feel is necessary, given your resourcefulness. But do not mistake caution for opportunity. I have made a careful study of you, Kathryn. I believe the team I have assembled can prevent you escaping their custody."

I concealed a shudder at his words. Bluffs and taunts wouldn't do me any good here.

He continued in the same calm, collected tone he used back at the Landsmeet. "I did not expect you to travel at night," he mused aloud. "But those who do, they do so with stealth in mind. You lit up the road with your sprites to light your way. Why? Why is it so important that you travel at night, but not in stealth?"

I turned my head away, ignoring his questions. The magebane still coated my throat, and I coughed to shift the gunk and ease the prickly sensation.

"Knight-Commander!"

Darrian glanced around. "Report," he said shortly.

A nearby silhouette saluted. "We found the wagon. There was no trace of the bodyguard or the hound, Ser." The voice had the distinct accent of someone from the Free Marches.

Darrian rose out of his crouch. "This is exactly the situation I wished to avoid."

The templar wavered slightly. "Ser! We could not have foreseen that she would be travelling at night."

"Do people ever travel at night?" Darrian asked silkily.

"Er, occasionally, Ser."

"Then it could have been foreseen. But no matter; recriminations are not advantageous at this point. We need to adapt to this change of circumstance."

He stood still for a while as the templars broke down the camp. Though silent, I could almost hear his thoughts race. The templar who'd brought word of the unattended wagon remained still at attention.

Finally, Darrian reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose. "An apostate, most likely."

"Knight-Commander?"

Darrian spun to face the templar. "It was always possible that she would leave the Circle with another recruit; we were prepared for that. But any such mage would have been armed. She would not have just given her staff to a mage who wielded one already. As improbable as it sounds, they must have met an apostate after leaving the tower."

The templar did not sound convinced. "Er, that's quite unlikely, Ser. We are less than three leagues from Kinloch Hold. Apostates as a rule do not come anywhere near a Circle."

Darrian marched over to the much-taller man and glared up at him. "Her bodyguard left her. She does not have the staff she was seen carrying. She does not have the leather potion sash she customarily wears. So the most likely scenario is that they came across an unarmed apostate, and she gave orders to her bodyguard to escort him to her Grey Warden fortress while she exacted vengeance on those who mortally wounded her hound."

In my daze, I cursed myself and my actions. Thunder was quite possibly the only person he could have attacked to make me react like that. He'd played me so well. Thankfully it appeared that they had not heard the news of Connor's escape.

"Er, how do you know that the dog wasn't killed?"

"Her bodyguard wouldn't have taken the body it if it had been!" Darrian snapped. "Send word to the strike team that they are searching for a lightly armed bodyguard and at least one apostate. They are most likely carrying a large dog. Move!"

The templar bolted.

Darrian turned and looked down at me. He took a half breath and let it out in a short sigh and shook his head. "You make even something as simple as ambushing you so very complicated, Kathryn Surana."

"That's Arlessa Kathryn to you," I croaked.

He moved closer and crouched down in front of me. "I think we are both beyond titles at this point." He sighed deeply. "Do you recall our discussion at your Landsmeet?"

I ignored him.

He continued as though I had answered in the affirmative. "We spoke about the cause and culpability for the current rift between the Chantry and Ferelden. I am sure you have deduced that I have been charged with repairing that rift. A task made somewhat more difficult by your recent actions."

I coughed and snorted. "Morag and Rylock weren't singing from the same hymn sheet either."

"That is true," he agreed. "But mindless fanatics can be useful in some small number of circumstances. Sacrificing them cost nothing, but gained me much."

I felt cold shiver than had nothing to do with the night air. "I suppose sacrificing _me_ gains you more then."

Darrian made no denial. "I am not usually given to exposition. However, I wish for you to know that I find the action I must take distasteful. But as they say, duty is a harsh mistress."

I gave him an ugly laugh. "The claim of a coward."

"If it pleases you to believe so," he accepted amicably. "You should know that Ser Rylock has been executed for her attack upon your person. Revered Mother Morag and Grand Cleric Murian have ostensibly been stripped of their ecclesiastical rank and returned to Val Royeaux. I strongly suspect their remaining years will be spent in a cloister. Certainly their failures should preclude them from ever gaining another position of power within the Chantry."

I stared up at him, straining to make out the details of his expression in the near darkness. "Ostensibly?"

He gave me a single nod. "Yes. I told you that the fault for this lamentable state of affairs lay within the character of the Grand Cleric. There could be no reconciliation between the Ferelden Crown and Chantry with her in a position of power. Given the hideous miscalculations and clouded judgement of both priests, they would likely have been stripped of their rank by the Divine. Such an action would have weakened Her Perfection's political position within her council at a critical time, so I managed to persuade both priests that willingly ceding their positions was in the best interests of the Chantry."

I shook my head. "And I'm the payment," I said flatly. "The sacrifice they demanded."

He nodded and responded in a rather satisfied tone of voice. "Just so. The fact that both of them eagerly chose deciding your fate as their price says much about their self-destructive vindictiveness. The Chantry is well rid of such folk."

"My fate," I repeated. "They gave up their power just to order my death?"

He actually sighed, doing a remarkable impression of a man truly sorrowful. "No. Such a demand would have been far easier to fulfil. No, you will live for some time yet." He rose to his feet. "I shall say no more. Good bye, Kathryn Surana. We shall not meet again."

I glared at him as he turned and left me, but the effect was probably lost on a human at night. "Oh, I wouldn't bet on it," I whispered to myself.

o_ooo000ooo_o

Cassandra swallowed. She had not been looking forward to this part of the Warden's story. "It was Murian and Morag who chose your punishment?"

Kathryn glared at her, but the Seeker noted that the elf's hands were trembling lightly. "Of course. Who did you think decided it? The templars? They're men. They don't have the vicious imagination necessary."

o_ooo000ooo_o

Rough hands stripped me of my remaining armour. Nothing replaced it, leaving me clammy and cold in my sweat-stained undershirt in the crisp night air. More hands gripped my head firmly and someone scraped my scarlet hair away with a cut-throat razor. Still weak from the Smites and without my Arcane Warrior strength, I could not struggle enough to stop them. A stout rope tied the manacles to a metal staple, hammered deep into the earth.

By the time the sun peaked over the horizon, the camp was packed and I got a good look at my captors.

Templars, to a man. As I studied each figure I noted that I was in rather esteemed company. Eight templars and there wasn't a non-titled bastard among them. Darrian and another man wore the armour of a Knight-Commander, while the remaining six were all Knight-Captains.

And there was a strike team out there after Pickering and Connor.

They really went all out to capture me. There were twice as many ranking templars as were needed to run an entire Circle of Magi. I didn't know whether to be honoured or terrified.

The only positive was that things didn't seem to be going well for them. The strike team had not yet returned, and it was dawn. Darrian gave some final orders before mounting a horse and riding off to the west.

I rolled over, shivering in the damp earth, but not yet capable of rising under my own strength. In the light of the morning I examined the manacles on my hands.

The long bar made it impossible for me to bring my hands together; making it impossible to work at the cuffs. Some of the runes embedded in the silverite were familiar; commonly used to dampen the mana of mages housed in a prison cell. But my classical education held that they were only effective on a stationary structure. The unfamiliar runes must be what made the bloody thing portable.

A tiny movement caught my eye. In the undergrowth a couple of feet away, a small grey mouse rose on its hind legs and waved a paw at me.

"Shit," I whispered.

The templar standing over me glanced down and smirked at me.

"Water?" I wheezed at him, theatrically making my throat sound drier than it was.

He snorted softly, but took a couple of paces and called out to another templar.

I snapped my attention back to Connor. "Orders," I breathed, as loudly as I dared. "Get to Soldier's Peak. Do not follow me. Don't try to aid me. I'll escape myself. Go!"

Connor's head drooped, but he nodded. He turned and vanished into the undergrowth. I breathed a sigh of relief.

I stared at where he had been standing for a long moment, praying that he and Pickering obeyed. Pain suddenly flashed in my back, and I grunted in agony. "Here, mage. Water."

I rolled back over and glared up at him.

"You want me to kick you again? Just keep looking at me like that. You wanted water; here it is."

I reached out for the canteen, but he simply upended it over me. I gasped at the frigid sensation as the liquid splashed on my bald scalp. The water ran unimpeded down my face and neck, and soaked my clothes. In the brisk morning air, the liquid felt like ice.

"Nice view Warden," the templar leered.

I glanced down and saw that my wet undershirt was almost transparent. I grabbed the collar and pulled the material away from my skin.

The templar snorted. "Why bother? It's not as though you have much to look at," he sneered at me.

With one hand, I pulled the material up to my lips and sucked as much moisture out of it as I could. He snorted, and then stood back at attention.

After perhaps another hour, the remaining Knight-Commander finally ordered the templars to move out. My guard levered the metal staple out of the earth and tossed it into the back of a wagon. He then hauled on the rope, pulling me to my feet.

"You try and run, and I'll hunt you down," he snarled in my face.

I figured I'd best test the waters, so to speak, to see just how much Darrian was prepared to take to keep me alive.

I thrust my knee hard into his groin.

He dropped like a sack of shit.

Calls of alarm rang out around the camp. I ignored them and lifted my foot. The templar's nose made a delightful crunching sound under my heel.

Two templars charged me, clubs in hand. I defended as best I could, using the silverite bar between my wrists. But the result was inevitable.

My ribs, shoulders, arms and legs were aching by the time the remaining Knight-Commander called them off me.

He stood over my trembling form and shook his head. "Tsk, tsk, tsk," he said, wiggling his finger at me.

"It was worth it," I grunted.

"I shall change your mind, mage," he retorted in a thick, Orlesian accent. "For every attack on any man under my command, I shall repay you five-fold."

I grinned up at him nastily. "What a brave soul you are."

He frowned. "Do not try me," he growled.

I ignored him. "I bet you can't wait for your biographer. 'What did you accomplish in your life?' 'Oh, I ordered six men to beat up a helpless elf girl a third my size. Aren't I tough!' The priest will probably give me a medal."

He looked a bit taken aback. Several of the other templars looked a little uncomfortable. "I am doing the Maker's work," he declared.

I snorted. "Oh, I just bet he's overjoyed at His name being used as an excuse to do the bidding of a pair of vindictive bitches. Tell me, would you stand up in the Cathedral and tell the congregation what you're doing? Or are you too ashamed?"

He snarled at me, snatched one of the templar's clubs, and struck down.

* * *

><p>When I came to, I found myself carried over the shoulder of a templar, sporting a splitting headache and blurred vision. My arms dangled down his back, pulled hard by the heavy metal shackled to my wrists. I twisted my head slightly and noted that the templar wasn't wearing a helmet.<p>

I was being carried along a narrow dirt track; a hunter's path.

I didn't hesitate. Despite the deep ache in my head, limbs and ribs, I carefully manoeuvred my hands, managing to get a grip on both ends of the silverite bar. I took a few breaths, then with a sharp move, twisted my body and jammed one end of the bar up and into the back of the templar's head.

He grunted and dropped to one knee, but didn't black out or let go. I raised the bar again and struck down. He still didn't fall, but his grip slackened. I writhed about, getting some leverage, and brought one knee sharply up under his chin. His head snapped back.

This time he fell.

I broke free of his tensionless grip and raced off in a random direction through the light forest. The rush of possible freedom lent me a temporary relief from the pain, and despite my aches, I ran as fast as I could. Shouts echoed around me on all sides except one – directly in front. I didn't care what direction I was running; I didn't care what was in front of me.

I just ran.

I dodged trees and jumped over logs. Weirdly, I found myself noticing vivid details in the world around me. The shape of a spider's web. The pattern of moss on a bolder.

The mystical force of a Holy Smite struck at me; I forced it away and kept on running.

But running on bare feet in an untamed forest was not easy. My foot landed on the edge of an inconvenient rabbit hole and sank as the weakened earth gave way. I stumbled and fell forward.

My pursuers were on my before I could recover. Pain flared in my back and shoulders from their assault, but above it all a voice cried, "Subdue her!"

A large hand gripped the back of my head and pushed my face forward into a log.

* * *

><p>The next time I regained consciousness, I wished I had not.<p>

There wasn't a single part of me that didn't ache abominably. I groaned involuntarily.

"Ser? She appears to be awake."

The unnamed Knight-Commander's face appeared in my vision. "This is becoming tiresome, Warden," he snapped. "Do not try my patience again."

Through a jaw that felt askew, I ground out, "I bet I can keep it up longer than you can." As bravado went, it lacked a certain something, but it was all I could manage.

"Knight-Commander? Allow me," a familiar voice said. "The Warden and I are old friends. It will be my pleasure to, heh, adjust her behaviour."

The Knight-Commander glared at me intently, but nodded. "Very well. She is yours to discipline. I must see to the perimeter." He drew away, and the scarred, monocular visage of Knight-Captain Conchobar took his place. "Well met, Warden," he leered, grinning nastily as the Knight-Commander left me to his mercies.

o_ooo000ooo_o

Cassandra jerked back, visibly shocked. To her sure and certain knowledge, Knight-Commander Conchobar of the Nevarran Circle had not been a member of the templar team that had abducted the Warden. Indeed, he had been a respected and highly decorated templar with a commendation from the Divine Beatrice herself.

Was the Warden stringing her along? Was this part of her story being embellished, or even fabricated?

Still, story so far had validated both the man's attitude and physical appearance.

What if he had been a member of the team? How had he escaped the punishment dispensed to the remainder.

Cassandra leaned forward, eager for more.

o_ooo000ooo_o

I swallowed the stubborn knot of fear in my throat and replied, "Nice to see you again, Cyclops."

Conchobar's superior leer fractured momentarily as his remaining eye twitched. But he was certain of his power enough that he let the insult slide. "I am going to enjoy breaking you. I must say that I'm a little upset that I wasn't here until now. But I suppose killing your bodyguard and dog was quite satisfying. Oh, and the apostate too, but he wasn't important."

Despite the sudden shiver I felt at those words, I had to believe that he was lying. "He? You think the mage with me was male?" I bluffed. "You sure I didn't ruin the vision in your other eye too?"

The smile on his face vanished.

I grinned at him. Bluff called. They were safe.

He sneered. "Bah! It doesn't matter. No one knows who took you. No one knows where we are taking you. With those shackles, you can't use magic to escape."

Pleased that he was wrong about at least one of those things, I raised an eyebrow at him. "Bullshit. You're deathly afraid that I'll escape or be rescued. If you weren't, your idiot friends over there wouldn't be so scared of using their names around me."

The sneer drooped a bit before slamming back up. "You think we're scared of you escaping?"

"Terrified," I confirmed.

He snorted. And, with a swagger in his voice, began pointing out each templar and reeling off their names and ranks.

Maker's balls, but this idiot was easy to manipulate.

Despite the sudden alarm around the camp and demands that he stop, Conchobar kept at it, pausing only to bark at the dissenters that he had been left in charge. He was so determined to prove that he wasn't afraid of a woman that he casually violated operational security. I mentally recited each name, filing the information away deep in my mind.

"Oh, and I'm sure you recognise Keenan," he said with a cruel grin. "Keenan! Come over here, man!"

Pitiful whimpering came from under a nearby bush. It shook and trembled before disgorging my Warden. Keenan half crawled, half slithered towards us, crying piteously all the while.

Conchobar appeared delighted to relate Keenan's sorry tale. My Warden had appeared at the Chantry doors one night, hysterical with grief. He had come across his wife in the arms of her lover and had murdered them both in a fit of rage.

After disposing of the bodies, he had gone to the Amaranthine Chantry to beg for forgiveness. He could have claimed sanctuary and remained untouchable so long as he stayed within the walls of the Chantry, but a visiting Knight-Captain had been there. One of Darrian's men.

It seems that having a Grey Warden indebted to them appealed to the templars.

It hadn't taken long for Keenan to become horribly addicted to lyrium. Not when he had been unfettered access to as much pain-relief as he wanted combined with no long-term healing. The templars knew exactly how to corrupt a man to work for them.

"Let me show you just how broken he is. Come over here, man," Conchobar demanded.

Keenan obeyed like a beaten dog desperately trying to please his master.

Conchobar gestured to a pair of templars. "Make her stand. Strip her."

After a brief flurry of action that ended with one templar with a bloody nose and me with an aching, puffy cheek, I was forced upright, my arms above my head and naked to the world.

Conchobar handed Keenan a switch. "Here. Whip her. Whip your Commander."

He looked at me uncertainly, and gave Conchobar a pleading look.

"Whip her, and I'll give you a full potion, Keenan."

The branch whistled through the air without further hesitation, and pain erupted across the ribs under my left arm. I clenched my teeth together, but couldn't keep a grunt from escaping.

Another whistle, and a new fiery pain ignited across my right side on the backstroke.

Keenan struck back and forth like a man possessed; with passion but no direction. He hit the skin on my hips as often as the tender flesh of my ribs. He did not target my breasts, despite the urging from Conchobar. He simply wanted his potion, and wanted it as quickly as possible. So he swung the branch back and forth, raining agonizing blows on either side of my body.

I mentally recited the names and ranks of the templars in an effort to distract myself from the pain.

Eventually, Keenan stopped, and my throat felt raw from screaming. I gasped and gulped air as the templars around me shook their heads.

"Pathetic," Conchobar sneered, cuffing Keenan and sending the emaciated man sprawling. He turned to me. "I think a different form of punishment is warranted. Spread her legs."

I struggled hard, but against three burly men there was little I could do. Conchobar raised his kilt and fumbled at his smalls. With an evil grin, he closed on me, positioned himself, and thrust.

Pain erupted in my groin, but it was hardly worth mentioning given what I'd just endured. What made it worse was the sensation of defilement. They had stripped me of my dignity as well as my clothes. This was about dehumanising me in the most vile and violent way.

I forced myself to become angry. It was hard. All I wanted to do was curl up and wish the world away. Rage covered the fear and helplessness, giving me a measure of control.

I opened my streaming eyes and glared at my rapist's face, his breath hot on my cheek. I gave him a tight smile.

"Enjoying that, whore?" he snarled.

In between his thrusts, I retorted, "I'm about to."

My blood was a weapon. And with his brutal actions, he'd released it.

At my mental command, the taint in my blood attacked him like acid.

Conchobar's expression changed slowly, from unholy joy to confusion. And then from confusion to pained terror.

He screamed and withdrew, clutching at his genitals. "It burns! It burns!" he bellowed, trying to rub my blood from his little templar.

It didn't work. My blood took just seconds to its way through the skin, muscle and bone of a demon. It made short work of an unprotected male member.

Templars rushed to his aid. A few stood around with bewildered helplessness as Conchobar writhed in a ball of personal agony in front of them.

"What did you do?" screamed a voice directly into my ear.

I turned and smirked at the bucket helm. "Piss off," I told him.

He struck me across the face. I found myself oddly thankful that he'd divested himself of his metal gauntlets to more easily restrain me for Conchobar.

"I asked you a question, mage," he yelled.

"And I told you to piss off," I retorted.

He raised his fist again, but another voice shouted over the din, "She won't answer you like this, Knight-Captain!"

I looked over at the speaker, bringing to mind his name from Conchobar's ill-considered exposition. "Too bloody right," I spat.

"She'll answer me," the pugnacious templar declared.

I snorted with dark amusement, but the templar shook his head. "She has been Smited, beaten, restrained, whipped and raped. I have encountered mages with similar discipline. Nothing you do to her will convince her to speak. Ser," he finished belatedly.

I looked at the chatty templar a bit more closely. He was one of the new non-titled among them. Though I was no expert, I figured from his accent that he was from Nevarra or the Free Marches.

"Give me a few hours with her and she'll talk all right," the helmeted templar said with a menacing growl.

I raised my chin at him, silently declaring my challenge.

"With all due respect, Ser Conchobar does not have a few hours."

The three of us remained in a tableau of silence broken only by the piggy whining and squeals emanating from the recently emasculated Ser Conchobar.

"Fine," the templar with the fists spat. "Do what you can to get her to talk." He tossed me towards the newcomer, spun on his heel and stalked away.

The templar actually removed his cloak and knelt in the dirt with me. He wrapped me in the rough cloth. "I know you won't tell me what you did, but is there anything you will tell me? Anything that will save Ser Conchobar?"

I studied his handsome features for a moment, trying to get a feel for his character. "Sure. Let me go and I'll tell you."

He gave me a sad smile. "You know I don't have the authority to order that."

I bit back my first response. "Then get me some food," I said, figuring that I had only a small window of opportunity to get fed.

He nodded. "That, I can do." He raised his head and called out to one of the templars hovering uselessly around Conchobar to go and get some food for me.

There were some grumblings, but the nominated waiter wandered off to his assigned duty.

"What can you tell me?" the templar pressed.

I just stayed silent, occasionally dropping my gaze on the fellow getting me dinner.

The templar sighed and accepted that I was staying silent until I got my food. If it wasn't for Conchobar's shrill screams dying off, I'm sure he would have pressed the issue.

A plate of jerky and trail rations was dropped on my lap, and a canteen sloshed as it landed at my side. Despite being naked under the cloak, I opened it to get at the food. With my hands shackled a couple of feet apart, I couldn't eat all that well. I snatched the dry food up with one hand and shoved it into my mouth, chewing noisily.

"Now, is there anything you can tell me?"

I shrugged without stopping my chewing. "Conchobar is going to have to get used to not holding onto anything while he pisses," I said around a mouthful of jerky. I swallowed, tugged the cork of the canteen out and gulped down a few mouthfuls of water to follow the salty dried meat.

The templar paled at the thought. "He is losing his… Maker's breath!"

I nodded with a malicious grin, and took another bite.

"What can we do?" he demanded.

I rolled my eyes. "Maker, if only you happened to have someone who could heal nearby. Someone like, oh, a mage?"

An eavesdropping templar almost exploded. "You can heal him? Do it!" he demanded.

I shoved the rest of the jerky in my mouth and raised my hands, showing off the magic-damping manacles. Despite the protests from the bruised and torn skin along my sides, I gave them a shake to draw attention to them just in case he didn't get it. He was a templar after all, they were notoriously thick.

"What is going on here?" the Knight-Commander bellowed from the other side of the clearing.

I picked up as much of the rations as I could and shoved them into my mouth. I had just seconds left to eat them if his expression was any indication. After all, he had just left Conchobar in charge of giving me some attitude adjustment, and when he got back Conchobar was lying in a ball, clutching the remains of his bits while I sat unmolested and eating. It probably wasn't what he had in mind when he left.

o_ooo000ooo_o

Cassandra found herself disturbingly satisfied at Conchobar's misfortune. "Your blood was able to emasculate him so thoroughly?" she asked, seeking clarification on the extent of the unconventional power.

Kathryn's grin could not have been more satisfied had it been on the face of a cat in a vat of cream. "Oh yes. Next time I saw him he had nothing but a scarred lump down there. He is constantly getting infections but no mage will go anywhere near what's left of his bits, so he can't pass water without screaming in agony."

The Seeker hesitated. Conchobar had Vanished years before, yet the Warden spoke of him in the present tense. Did she know something of his location after all this time? "What happened after you maimed him?"

The mage shrugged easily. "Conchobar was sent off for medical attention, given they weren't going to let me out of my shackles to save him. I took great joy in pointing out to the others that their emasculation was worth less than my continued captivity."

Cassandra winced. "I take it you were not treated better after that?"

Kathryn lost what little humour she had. "No. I was gagged, stripped and made to march behind them as we travelled south through the back lanes of Ferelden. Without my hair, I was just a naked elf to the few people we encountered. The templars were quite free with their switches, and offered them to just about everyone we came across."

Cassandra swallowed. "They switched you? That is all?"

Emerald eyes hardened. "All? All, Cassandra? There wasn't a square inch of my skin that wasn't marked by the end of the first day. Oh, they were very careful not to break my skin; given what my blood had done to Conchobar. But that just gave rise to some of the most inventive punishments you could imagine. Like staking me out on an anthill overnight and then digging into the nest to enrage the ants. That was a fun one."

Cassandra shuddered.

"Or sawing a rashvine back and forth between my legs and then tying my knees together. Or holding my face down in a bucket of their piss repeatedly until I drank it? Oh, what laughs we had."

"Warden, I..."

"They were too afraid to rape me, but not to hold my legs apart and repeatedly kick me in the groin. Or seizing my ears with metal tongs heated in the fire? Seeing if they could twist my nipples off with their metal gauntlets? What fun. Breaking my toes before marching? No, you bitch, switching me wasn't all they did!"

Silence enveloped the pair as they stared at each other. Eventually, Cassandra broke first and asked, "And you did not break? You continued to fight?"

"I did. To both questions."

The Seeker frowned. "You... broke?"

The elf nodded slowly. "The constant abuse; it was relentless. I got almost no sleep during that march, and only enough food to keep me ravenous rather than weak. They refused me clothes, so I was burned by the sun during the day and chilled to the bone at night. I was constantly humiliated, forced to kneel in the dirt and eat without using my hands while they watched. I retreated deep into my mind. I became like a wild animal, fighting and lashing out. I told the Knight-Commander in charge that I would never submit; that I would keep fighting. And I made good on that too. By the time we reached the Wilds there wasn't one of them who didn't have a broken nose or a lost tooth or two. That silverite bar was pretty good for that; shove it hard into someone's face and watch the fun. Of course, that invariably meant punishment."

Cassandra frowned, forcing back the sympathy she felt. It would do her no good here and would only insult the proud mage. "What of your man Keenan?"

"He was treated just as poorly. He just didn't need to be chained. His addiction to the lyrium pain potion kept him leashed to the templars. Given the choice, he would take a potion over food or sleep."

The Seeker rubbed her chin. "I take it they used him to locate darkspawn?"

Kathryn nodded. "It took us a couple of weeks to make it all the way south to the Wilds, but once there, the templars had several options to enter the Deep Roads. They tried just about every identified cave entrance, and it took half a dozen tries to find one that led deep enough that there was any sign of darkspawn."

"Why take you so far south?"

Kathryn shrugged. "That was where they'd explored. All the templars mustering there had little enough to do besides enjoy their holiday. But they didn't have the capability to track the taint; that's what they used Keenan for."

Cassandra shook her head at the immoral actions of holy men. "So they dragged you deep into the Deep Roads. I know it is difficult, but can you tell me what happened down there?"

o_ooo000ooo_o

Keenan whimpered and writhed, like a dog begging his master not to beat him. "Please?" he whispered pathetically.

"Which way, Keenan?" the Knight-Commander demanded.

With an anguished expression, Keenan crawled along the rocky floor. Tears ran down his face and into his beard, washing a thin strip of skin on his cheeks clean. He raised a trembling arm and pointed down the passage towards the most concentrated darkspawn sensation.

"There! That way! Now please?"

The templar sneered and tossed him a small vial. Keenan tried to grab it, but his shaking limbs caused him to fumble. The flask shattered on the floor.

With a squeal of abject horror, Keenan dropped and lapped the liquid as it spread on the muddy rock.

"Move out!" he ordered, beckoning at me. Two templars grabbed me and dragged me off in the direction Keenan had indicated.

The sudden unwelcome realisation hit me. "No!" I screamed. "You can't be serious!"

The Knight-Commander glared at me. "I would have preferred executing you on the road from the Circle, as would every man here. But our desires are irrelevent. Your fate has purchased stability in the Chantry. Take her, bind her legs and leave her for the darkspawn."

I screamed at him. "This is what you have planned for me? Do you know what will happen to me down there?"

He nodded once. "You will birth darkspawn. I know."

He did too. I saw it in his eyes. Sacrificing me on the altar of two vengeful women's hatred for temporary stability was worth every second of unending torment. That I would strengthen the enemies of Thedas was not relevant. That the Maker himself cursed the tainted creatures was not relevant. I had offended them, so I needed to be punished.

And they knew exactly how horrifying it would be for me.

* * *

><p>I fought as hard as I could as they dragged me down that depressingly short passageway. The itchy, oily sensation of nearby darkspawn grew steadily more intense. They were coming closer, drawn by the taint in my blood.<p>

I screamed, thrashed and bucked, but to no avail. Too weak from hunger and abuse, my executioners simply dragged me ever closer to an horrific fate.

When the first sounds of grunting echoed in the corridor, the pair dumped me and bolted. I scrabbled for the knots at my ankles, but with only one hand able to work on them at a time, I could not loosen them.

I gave up and tried crawling away, looking for anything helpful. A niche in the tunnel wall I could hole up in, a discarded dagger, anything.

There was nothing. And the darkspawn were almost upon me.

Suddenly, a screaming apparition appeared from the other direction. Keenan wailed and charged at me, sending a surge of hope through my heart.

"Keenan! Help me get these shackles off!"

He ignored me. "Where is it?" he demanded, grabbing me by my shoulders and lifting my frame off the ground. "Where?"

"What?" I asked dumbly.

"My potion!" he wailed, turning my nude body around and running his hands down my blistered and battered skin. "Where? Where is it? They said you had the last one!"

He shoved me away when it became apparent even to him that I did not have a pain potion on me. I could barely believe the gall of the templars. Keenan had delivered me to them; the least they owed him was a clean death. But no, they were discarding him to a horrible fate.

"Keenan, we have to-" I began, when the darkspawn arrived. The dark wave broke over us, drowning us in evil.

I kicked out as well as I could, given my ankles were bound. It accomplished little .

The next few seconds were awful. Despite his crimes, I wailed in anguish as poor Keenan was torn limb from limb, still crying out in vain for relief from his pain-filled existence. I whispered a prayer for his soul as I was carried away. I struggled of course, bashing at the heads and hands of the darkspawn with the silverite bar. But deep in my heart I knew it was futile.

They carried me for miles. The rock strata changed as we descended further and further. The small group of hurlocks who carried me was joined by other roving bands who hollered with success at the capture of a female.

I don't know how long they carried me. I was beaten savagely after biting two fingers off a hurlock, and drifted in and out of consciousness for a while. But I was awake for our arrival at what was to be my home for the rest of my life.

The cavern was huge, with stalagmites and stalactites dotting the floor and ceiling. A large bonfire burned at one end; oily black smoke rising in writing curls and vanishing up a natural chimney in the rock.

I was passed around in a bewildering game. Eventually, one ogre emissary sent a blast of eldritch energy into the air, signalling the start of a ritual.

I was unceremoniously dragged over and held down on a sheered stalagmite as wide as the entrance to Vigil's Keep. The ogre stomped over and roared a challenge to the cavern.

All the darkspawn fell silent.

Suddenly, Hespith's poem echoed in my mind.

I clenched my teeth together, but it was no use. Disgusting fingers pried my jaw apart, hard enough to almost hyperextend the joint, sending lances of pain shooting through my skull. The ogre emissary grinned at me, took a deep breath and leaned forward.

He vomited all over my face.

The foul liquid gushed into my mouth, making me gag. I jerked my head away from the hands holding me steady and coughed, trying to expel the liquid. A massive hand grasped my head, fingers over one ear and thumb over the other.

It forced me to face him again. His grin was malicious, beyond my previous comprehension of that word.

But I wasn't out of the fight yet. I bit the inside of my cheek hard, focusing on the pain. Coppery blood filled my mouth.

The ogre opened his mouth again, and I spat blood, calling forth the power of the taint.

The glob of bloody phlegm entered the ogre's mouth, and he jerked back as it burned the back of his throat. He let out a roar of agony, and thrashed around, clutching and clawing at his neck, tearing off strips of rotting flesh.

The rest of the darkspawn were surprised into immobility at the ogre mage's reaction. I writhed, my terror lending me strength even in my emaciated state. The vomitus on my arms helped me to slip out from the grip of one darkspawn. I slid towards the floor, but the other two shifted position and redoubled their grip.

The blasted manacles made it so easy for them to hold me. But my latest escape attempt left me almost prone on the ground as they held my arms aloft by the silverite bar.

The wounded ogre continued to gasp and choke, before blindly lashing out at me. Or at least, at where he last saw me. His fist smashed into the hurlocks holding me. Only my arms were in the path of the strike, and the sudden intense burning ecstasy in my arms left me reeling.

Instead of the agonizing shock of broken and shattered bone, it felt as though I'd dipped my arms into a vat of boiling euphoria.

I blinked the tears from my eyes to see the bent and twisted silverite bar. And more importantly, the bent and twisted runes.

It was my magic I felt!

I whispered the spell that I'd kept secret. The one spell no one knew I could cast.

My last hope.

The darkspawn closed as the magic took hold.

o_ooo000ooo_o

AN: Thanks to my reviewers, Pintsizedpsycho, Ie-maru, KatDancer2, Arsinoe de Blassenville, MB18932, Isabeau of Greenlea, MemoriesoftheForgottenGuardi an, SgtGinger, timunderwood9, Nate88, unanimously anonymous. mostly, Forget Logic. Pinch Stuff, A fan, Angurvddel, Frankie Lady of soup, Aeonir, Phygmalion (x6!), Laureola, NPC200, forget the rest, Robbie the Phoenix (x8!). I really appreciate your patience and your feedback.

I am sorry for the delay in posting this chapter. I generally keep all my fanfiction work on a thumb drive so I can work on it on different computers, but back it up onto my main laptop. However, my daughter tripped over the power lead to that laptop a few weeks before Christmas and sent the computer flying. The laptop died, and the thumb drive was damaged. Not even a data recovery company could get anything off either.

All my unposted stuff for my current fics - 60,000 words – gone, plus 30K words of an unposted story I'd been kicking about.

I had half of the first draft of this chapter in an email I'd sent to myself, and that was it. It's surprising at just how your desire to write vanishes when you have to repeat it all again. It won't be so long for the next chapter.


	27. Interlude

disclaimer type=standard

Anything you recognize is Bioware's. I dare say anything else belongs to them too.

/disclaimer

o_ooo000ooo_o

Kathryn paused her narration and swallowed a couple of times. "I'm thirsty," she announced, her damaged voice harsher than usual.

Cassandra nodded, realising that the elf would need some time to compose herself. "We can pause for a moment if you wish." She shook her head. "Even excommunication was not punishment enough," she growled softly, offering the short phrase in an attempt to worm her way further into the Warden's trust.

The reaction she received was completely unexpected.

"STOP SAYING THAT!" the Warden screamed at her in a voice raw with use and emotion.

Cassandra jerked back, startled at the abrupt change in volume. "What?"

"THEY WERE NOT PUNISHED!" the elf screamed, jumping to her feet and advancing on the Seeker. As the smaller woman's approach pushed the other back, she continued, "THEY WERE REWARDED!"

The sheer absurdity of the claim shocked the Seeker into speechlessness. "What? What are you talking about?"

Kathryn suddenly reached out and shoved Cassandra back. "You think the man who planned my capture was named Darren. And like a good little Chantry drone, you lapped up the story fed to you. I'm telling you flat out, it was Knight-Commander, later Knight-Divine, Darrian!" she spat.

A deep, yawning sensation opened under Cassandra. "That is impossible," she declared, suddenly not nearly as sure of that as she had been moments ago.

"And Knight-Commander, later Knight-Divine, Fenwick de Monfort."

The name of the second Knight-Divine who vanished from the Grand Cathedral struck Cassandra sharply. The yawning sensation deepened into an abyss.

"Knight-Captain Conchobar got promoted to Knight-Commander and sent to Nevarra. Knight-Captain Letholdus was promoted too, and sent to Gwaren."

Cassandra's control slipped, and she began trembling. Name after familiar name washed over her. Rulf of Ghislain, Christophe Rowntree, Walter deGrey, Clifton Forthwind, Tybalt Fitzroy, she recognised them all – name, rank and the location from which they had disappeared.

The Warden paused and theatrically tapped her chin. "Who else was there? Oh, yes. Carradoc de Lancet, he was the overzealous chap who tried thumping the answers out of me after I over-cooked Conchobar's divine sausage. Oh, and William; William One Leg I call him. Or Peggie – though that really pissed him off, as I recall. And there was one more, let me see, what was his name…"

Through a trembling jaw, Cassandra found her mouth forming the words, "Alexander. Alexander Pentaghast."

Kathryn clapped her hands together, as if in delight, though her expression put paid to that assumption. "Yes! That's right! Well done." She looked innocently at the Seeker. "Is there a problem?"

Pale and trembling, Cassandra managed to whisper, "The Vanished."

"The vanished what?" the Warden asked with her eyes wide with mock innocence calculated to be infuriatingly offensive.

"The Vanished!" Cassandra screamed, finally getting her voice under control. "The templars who disappeared!"

Kathryn pretended to be shocked and theatrically rocked backwards with a hand on her heart. But her eyes clearly expressed her enjoyment of the Seeker's loss of control. "Goodness, there are templars who disappeared?" She tapped at her chest, as though she had received some great shock, still pretending to be surprised. "How astonishing. When did this happen?"

The Seeker stared at the elf, the knowing, gloating expression causing her untold distress. "How?" she barked. "How do you know those names, Warden?" she demanded.

"I told you. They're the ones who-"

"No!" Cassandra screamed, no longer believing her own denials. Leaning close, she tried to convince herself more than the Warden. "No, the ones who abducted you were all excomm-," she shouted, unconsciously raising a fist.

With speed and strength Cassandra could scarcely believe possible, the Warden grabbed the front of the Seeker's armour and shoved her across the room with magically-enhanced strength. Her path crossed one of the chairs, taking her legs out from under her. Without her balance, she careered into the far wall, the back of her head colliding sharply with the stone.

Her vision flashed white and red, and bright spots of light swirled in front of her eyes. The pinpoints of dancing light were rather pretty.

Her breath exploded from her lungs as something struck her belly, just under the point of her sternum. Her armour protected her somewhat, but the blow had been hard. She tried to draw in a breath while instinctively moving her arms into a defensive position when something slammed against her nose.

Again, her head smacked back against the wall. Her right arm wouldn't move, so she tried protecting her face with her left. Something struck her hard on the neck and pressed her against the wall.

Her vision cleared. The Warden stood over her, one hand gripping her right wrist, the other arm pressed hard against her throat.

Cassandra's training took control. With her free hand, she reached out to grab hold of the mage's robes. She rolled her right wrist to break the grip.

As a tall human and expertly trained warrior, she had a distinct advantage over a slender elf. Cassandra was an expert swordswoman and more than competent in hand-to-hand combat, but dazed as she was her reaction times were somewhat slowed.

Unexpectedly, the Warden pulled back, spun and shoved the Seeker onto the floor, still holding her right arm in a grip like silverite. Unable to compensate for the abrupt change, Cassandra fell forward. Her right cheek smashed into the floor and was painfully shoved along the rough-hewn stone. White hot pain flooded her right shoulder as that arm was cruelly jerked around and up behind her back, hyper-extending the joint.

Nothing moved for a second.

Through a haze of pain, Cassandra gasped a breath through her aching throat.

"Never," a voice in her ear growled, dripping menace, "raise your fist to me. Ever. Do you understand?"

The Seeker opened her mouth to speak, but nothing emerged. She swallowed, hard and painful as the reflex was, and tried again. "…es," she wheezed.

"Good," Kathryn glowered, her lips still so close to Cassandra's ear that the Seeker could feel the breath rustle the hair near her ear. "I'd hate to have to kill you, just as we were getting on so well."

The sudden cessation of lateral pressure on her arm sent a spike of agony through Cassandra's shoulder as the joint returned to a more customary range. She quickly rolled over and backed away, setting herself for another attack.

The attack didn't come. The Warden stood in the centre of the cell, looking supremely unconcerned. "I think it's time to call it a day," she said evenly.

"What?" the Seeker wheezed. She swallowed to ease the pain in her throat.

"This interview is at an end," Kathryn repeated. "I think I've given you enough to think about for now."

Cassandra, her back pressed hard against the stone wall, wasn't sure if she was relieved or angry at the dismissal. "I still have questions," she said automatically, and then hated herself for flinching at the sudden glare she received.

"No doubt," Kathryn said with a soft snort. "See you tomorrow, Seeker."

The elf walked over to the door to the cell and rapped twice. The door opened, and she stepped through. Over her shoulder, she parted with, "Sleep well, Cassandra. We have a lot to talk about tomorrow." And with those words, the enigmatic mage was gone, leaving the angry, fearful, frustrated Seeker alone in her prison cell.

* * *

><p>The two armed men outside Cassandra's cell's door saluted as the Warden exited. One, wearing sergeant's stripes, said, "Warden-Commander, the General left word that he wishes to speak with you. I am to escort you to him."<p>

"Very well," Kathryn nodded, glancing back at the cell door. With a set of delicate gestures, she cast a spell targeted on the lock. She turned to the soldier who had not spoken. "Continue to guard this cell. You will be relieved shortly."

"Thank you, Warden-Commander."

"Come along, Sergeant." She turned on her heel and walked along the long, dreary corridor next to her escort. The penitent cells made up this one of the Grand Cathedral's vicinal buildings were all of a size and shape. Getting lost would be rather easy to do.

They exited the utilitarian building into the Grand Cathedral gardens. The path that led to the gigantic building was paved with white pebbles. The contrast between white stones and viridian foliage would have been vivid – even in the early evening twilight - had it not been for the light coating of ash. The air was still heavy with smoke.

"Did Francois say what he wanted?"

The soldier coughed. "Sorry, no, the General did not choose to confide in me."

Kathryn sighed. "I didn't really expect him to. What can you tell me about the situation out there?" she asked, gesturing off to the right, towards the smoldering remains of what had recently been the royal district of Val Royeaux.

"Some of the fires are still burning, but most have burned themselves out. The majority of the population has fled; having some dragons torch bits of the city was enough to convince almost all the civilians to take their chances elsewhere. Though there're a lot of looters tearing up what's left."

The Warden grunted. "Well, no one will miss them once the fun starts."

The soldier nodded and continued his report. "We've finished hauling out the ledgers and files from the Imperial Palace and have pulled back all our troops to the Cathedral, but we've not nearly enough numbers to hold it against a determined assault."

Kathryn gave a soft snort of laughter. "You're assuming that anyone would be interested in mounting an assault with me behind the walls."

The sergeant tilted his head in acknowledgement. "True. I can't imagine any of the local troops would volunteer, but we are holding both the Divine and the Empress hostage. It won't be long before someone at least tries to sneak in to rescue them."

Kathryn grinned at him. "You know, I'm rather counting on it."

* * *

><p>Cassandra sighed deeply after the cell door closed. She raised a hand to her nose and cheek, wincing inwardly at the sharp pain. The skin on her cheekbone was scraped raw, and she was slowly oozing blood from one nostril. Gingerly, she took off her gauntlet and stuck two fingers inside her mouth, between teeth and cheek. They came out covered in blood and saliva.<p>

"Damn it," she said aloud to the otherwise empty cell.

She looked around the small room. The desk had been shoved aside during the scuffle, knocking the ink pot over and spilling most of the ink within. She placed her gauntlet on the desk and gathered the put upright to save whatever liquid that remained.

She sat down on the cot and pulled off her remaining gauntlet, interlaced her fingers and dropped her chin onto her hands. The interview had gone poorly, by any measure. She had been able to influence, but not control, the direction of the exposition; an exposition that had revealed terrifying surprises.

The mystery of the Vanished had been revealed, and there had been a common link between the men after all. They composed the team that kidnapped and attempted to turn the hero of Ferelden into a broodmother. Despite desperately wanting to, Cassandra could not deny the claim. It made an evil sense. Did the Seekers who investigated the incident know?

Of course they did. They must have. It was inconceivable that they would be so incompetent as to not uncover the truth.

But the fact remained that the truth had been hidden. Presumably the Divine Beatrix herself had given the order. No one else had both the authority and desire to do so. The only other possible candidate would be the Lord Seeker, and given the historical tensions between the templars and the Seekers... No, it must have been Beatrix.

Cassandra hissed aloud in frustration. Her mission was a failure. Indeed, it appeared that it never stood a chance of success. All this time she had been proceeding under the assumption that those Maker-damned templars had been acting on their own volition. All this time, she had been working on the Warden thinking that those who wronged her had subsequently been punished severely for their actions. She had hoped that the Chantry's clear disassociation from their actions would work in her favour.

But there had not been a disassociation. There had been a cover up. Each man had been promoted. Each had been given commendations. That meant that even if the Divine Beatrix had not been involved in the planning, she had been pleased with the results.

But why proclaim that a group had been excommunicated at all? What was the point? The templars had never been given any public recognition.

With a deep sigh, Cassandra made the connection. Either Connor Guerrin or the Warden's man Pickering had escaped. Or both of them. Yes, that was more likely. Yes, given the frustrating elf's enigmatic insistence that Cassandra knew of them, it was almost certain that both had escaped the templar team sent to kill them. And while the Warden knew the names of the templars, her companions had not. So far from being a clean disappearance, the culprits had been identified by association.

Who had Connor and Pickering told? The Wardens at Soldier's Peak, certainly; that was a given. Had they told the Ferelden King? Perhaps, perhaps not. Tensions between Ferelden and the Chantry spiralled out of control in the weeks following the Warden's disappearance, to the point that there was talk of an Exalted March, but such talk stopped abruptly.

Cassandra had, to date, assumed that the seemingly inevitable military invasion had been derailed by the actions of the Warden after she had escaped the clutches of the darkspawn. But it was entirely possible that the Chantry's back down was due to threats of exposure by the Grey Wardens or Ferelden Crown.

And so twelve innocent men had been stripped of their rank and expelled from the Chantry for the sins of others, just to keep the secret that twelve guilty men had been praised for their actions and promoted.

It left a bitter taste in Cassandra's mouth. And a worse taste in her soul.

She picked up her gauntlets and fished around inside one. She pulled out a white scrap of cloth, and hung it out of the tiny window.

Message sent, she sat down on the cot and began to think.

* * *

><p>General Francois looked up from the plans of the Cathedral. "Kathryn," he nodded. "Are you finished toying with that Seeker?"<p>

The Warden shook her head. "Not yet. But she is nearly there."

The taciturn career soldier pursed his lips together in disapproval. "I barely have enough men to secure this Cathedral and its grounds, and there isn't any formal resistance in the city yet. I have numerous, far more important things you could be doing than trying to convince a Chantry loyalist to Join your Wardens."

Kathryn snorted with genuine amusement. "As hysterically funny as recruiting her would be, it is not and has never been my goal. Cassandra Pentaghast is Justinia's personal guardian; her Right Hand. And as such, she may well be the only person capable of uniting the Chantry's two military arms with the ecclesiastical."

Francois shook his head. "After everything they have done to you and Ferelden, you would give the priestesses here in the Cathedral that power? Why? The corruption here runs too deep. Even a relative moderate like the Divine Justinia could not fully separate the Chantry's goals from Orlais'. It would be better to let the whole institution collapse and let those who truly follow the teachings of Andraste to rebuild it."

Kathryn sighed. "I would agree wholeheartedly - and with great delight – in almost all other circumstances. But we do not have the time. This idiotic war between the mages and the templars has sapped the military strength from entire countries exactly when we could least afford it. I need the remaining templars. I need the remaining Seekers. Just as I need every damned Chevalier and Orlesian foot soldier. I need a sodding truce between the mages and Chantry, and I need it now."

Francois rubbed at his chin. "Isn't that what the Seeker claimed she wanted too? That's what she said when she surrendered herself at the gates."

Kathryn shook her head, her expression suddenly grave. "No. She envisaged a victory for the Chantry; she wanted a return to the status quo. Even if I thought it was a good idea, it was never going to happen. The war has gone on so long simply because mages are not going to allow themselves to be ruled again by those who hate and fear them."

General Francois frowned at the elf's answer. "'Wanted'? You use the past tense. Why? Have you managed to change her mind?"

The Warden smirked. "I told her some things that she wanted to hear, and some things that she needed to hear. Incidentally, she has been seeking an answer to a certain question for seven years, and I just dangled it in front of her and then left."

"I have no patience for such games, Kathryn."

She smiled at him, a warm, genuine expression. "I know, Francois. I know. But Cassandra Pentaghast has spent her life digging through lies to reveal truths. That is who she is. If I just gave her the answer she sought, she would have her doubts about its veracity. She would question my motives in revealing something so valuable for nothing in return. I have revealed some things she did not want to hear, and left her to her contemplation. With luck, she will retain her faith in the Maker, but develop a sense of caution and distrust with the Chantry."

The taciturn soldier looked taken aback. "And this is who you have chosen to unite the warring factions of the Chantry?"

Kathryn sighed. "Unfortunately, though it is repeated often, she is the only candidate."

This time Francois sighed. "Then perhaps you'd best go and talk with the Divine, rather than me."

* * *

><p>Two figures dressed in dark grey clothing timed their infiltration to avoid the makeshift patrols along the walls of the Cathedral. Once over the outer stone wall, the pair darted under cover within the lush, verdant gardens.<p>

There, they watched, and waited.

* * *

><p>Kathryn nodded to the pair of soldiers guarding the opulent door. They returned the nod and reached out to open the door without announcement.<p>

She strode through the portal with a cocky swagger. The room beyond was rich beyond the imagination of all but those raised amid such extravagance. While every furnishing had an obvious use, centuries of decadent wealth had turned even the humble hand basin into solid gold.

The rooms of the Divine were certainly luxurious.

The two women ensconced within the gilded prison cell looked shocked at her unannounced entrance.

"Warden-Commander Kathryn Surana, I presume?" the older of the pair offered after a few moments.

The elf mage nodded casually to the Divine as she strode into the opulent room, deliberately foregoing courtesy and formality. "That's me. I'm also the Arlessa of Amaranthine, the Bann of Port Griffin and Mage-Royal of Ferelden. Don't bother genuflecting; I can't stand all that rot."

Justinia V diplomatically let the disrespect pass without comment. "I confess that I am somewhat surprised at your appearance. Despite Leliana's descriptions, I still expected you to be ten feet tall."

Kathryn stopped, and looked over at the priestess. A smile bloomed on her face. "And shoot lightning from my eyes?" she asked with a snort.

The Divine, her features still holding traces of the beauty of youth, tilted her head. "Indeed. I take it that you cannot? Shoot lightning from your eyes, that is?"

The elf smiled; her eyes unfocused as she looked at a memory. "No. I once told someone who made that exact observation that, as organs, eyes are ill-equipped to channel the power necessary."

The other woman in the room, petting an aristocratic-looking feline, huffed with indignation. Kathryn glanced in her direction, noting that when bereft of her elaborate makeup and immaculately styled hair, the Empress of Orlais was a rather plain woman in her mid-thirties. The bone structure hinted at generations of beautiful women in her ancestry, but two and a half decades of wearing heavy cosmetics had left her skin pocked and tired. The Warden dismissed her without so much as a sniff.

With well-practiced grace, Justinia shifted and gestured to include the petulant woman into the conversation. "May I present Her Imperial Majesty, Cel-"

"We've met. I'm still half deaf from all the screaming she did at me the whole time I was dragging her sorry arse here. She informed over and over again that I couldn't do this to her – a statement which was factually incorrect as it turned out. She also went on about who she was and how much trouble I was in. Ferociously boring stuff."

"Well," the Divine began diplomatically.

"Got any wine?" Kathryn interrupted, moving over to the gold-inlaid mahogany sideboard. "I'm parched."

The Empress raised her chin in a practiced action. "I see that even away from the battlefield you are just as uncivilized as one can expect from a Ferelden barbarian."

"Said the woman who killed the last Emperor and usurped his throne from the rightful heir," the mage replied easily as she rooted through the dusty bottles on the exquisitely carved and inlaid rack. "Regicide is still considered uncivilized, isn't it?"

The Empress' eyes blazed with fury, and her strokes of the cat's fur became rather less delicate. "Such a claim is treason here in Orlais!" she spat.

"So you put people to death who dare to speak the truth. Yet you call me barbaric." The elf gave the woman a superior smirk. "If that's what you think is civilization, you can keep it. You know Dot, all this wine is rather pedestrian. I expected better."

Justinia frowned, trying to ignore Celene's unhelpfully antagonistic attitude and the elf's infuriating use of her childhood nickname. "I am afraid I have never developed a particularly refined palate. But those vintages are donations from the great vineyards of Orlais."

"Exactly. As I said, pedestrian," the Warden replied absently, noodling around the bottles; wiping the dust from some. "There's nothing here of any real variety. It's all the same stuff; they're all full, rich and complex. You know, there is a Seheron vineyard run by a Qunari that we import from. He's closer to eight feet tall than seven, yet he makes a wine so delicate it would reduce these bottles to tears." She rose and looked around the room. "Actually, there is something I'd love to try. Where would you keep it? Ah, yes, there." She moved over to a cabinet emblazoned with a carved and jeweled-encrusted relief of a rising sun.

The Divine rose to her feet, alarmed at the direction of the elf's attention. "That is not a…" she began as the Warden shredded the lock and ripped the doors away with only a wave of a hand and a whisper of magic.

"Oh, now this is nice!" She extracted a pair of purple, wax-sealed bottles with a cry of delight. The Divine paled.

"Those are irreplaceable! The grapes come from the vineyard planted on the grounds where the first Divine prayed to the Maker! That wine is used in the ceremony commemorating the transition from one age to the next!" she keened. "They are not to be opened for another sixty years!"

The elf grinned at the distressed woman. "So, quite apt then, given that the age of the Chantry is ending. Right, do you mind if I use your desk for a moment. I have to write a note."

Justinia watched helplessly as the mage plonked herself gracelessly down on her exquisitely comfortable chair, put the bottles on the desk, pulled out a sheet of her most luxurious vellum, and began scratching out a short note.

"Have you finished your theatrics?" Celene demanded, adjusting the cat on her lap. "Should you insist on treating us this way, I shall be less inclined to accept your surrender."

"Funny woman," Kathryn replied absently as she signed the note with a flourish.

Celene's expression grew even harder. "I do not know what you hope to accomplish, but by holding the two most powerful people in Thedas hostage will do nothing other than unite every force against you!" she proclaimed, her voice rising to end with a note of victory.

The mage blotted the ink and folded the sheet. "I'm counting on it," she replied just as absently as before, her attention still on the note. She sealed the folded vellum with a stick of pure white wax, and then scratched a single word on the outside of the sheet.

Justinia blinked at the unexpected response. "It is not your intention to ransom us?"

Vividly green eyes turned to face her, expressing nothing but mild curiosity. "What would be the point of that?" She rose and grabbed a solid gold tray from the window ledge that held a stack of incense. A single stick sat upright in a silver cup of pure white sand, a coil of white smoke wafting towards the ceiling.

Celene scoffed at the notion that ransom was not the Warden's plan, but Justinia frowned. "Traditionally, it is a tactic used to force a change of behaviour. I had assumed that your insistence on capturing Her Majesty alive was to use us to force an end to the Exalted March on Ferelden."

The Warden snorted. "That might make sense if Alistair was having any difficulty whatsoever keeping your forces out of Ferelden," She said, tossing the incense. She positioned the two bottles on the tray.

Celene ignored the elf's actions, simply giving her a superior smirk. She held her pet up and lightly bussed the cat's nose. "I think you are overestimating your country's ability."

A scarlet eyebrow rose at that. "Seriously? Do you actually read the reports your Chevaliers dispatch? You do realise that it's not technically an invasion if your troops can't actually hold any captured enemy ground, don't you? So far, every action to press into Ferelden territory has been pushed back across the Frostbacks. With rather high casualties on your side, I understand."

The Empress' expression displayed nothing but victory. "The Frostback Mountains are not the only way into Ferelden," she all but crowed.

"Oh. You mean that fleet that set sail from Val Royeaux two months ago," the Warden said absently with a short, dismissive nod. "Yeah, we sank that too."

"I hardly think your pathetic, so-called 'navy' capable of such," Celene sneered.

Kathryn gave an insouciant shrug. "That at least is very true." She picked up four crystal goblets from the wine cupboard and placed them on the golden tray next to the bottles. "Dragons on the other hand, are quite capable of such. I'm told it barely took one belch to take out each troop ship. The riders were delighted. The even had a bet going as to which of them could sink the most ships. Sigrun crowed about winning that for days," she finished with an amused expression and a shake of her head.

Celene's expression suddenly took on a somewhat brittle aspect.

"Didn't you know? You mean your commanders didn't wonder why the Ferelden army was still in place securing the border weeks after your fleet was due to land? What sort of idiots do you employ?"

The Divine drew herself up. "May we ask what your intention is, if not ransom?" she asked, imposing herself into the conversation more to give Celene a chance to calm and compose herself than any expectation of an answer.

Kathryn shrugged. She placed the note she'd written so that it was prominently displayed on the tray. "You touched on it already. It is the most expedient way to unite all the Andrastean armies together. I just hope they'll get here in time."

"In time for what?" Celene demanded, her face still flushed with anger.

The Warden gave her a sour look. "I thought you were supposed to be some sort of political genius. Why don't you think about it for a moment and then tell me?"

She carried the tray over to the door and kicked the intricately carved wood, leaving marks half a foot above the floor. A guard opened the door. "Yes, Commander?"

"Here," she said, handing him the tray. "Take this to the prisoner. Leave it outside her cell to one side of the door. Put the key to her cell on the tray, and then leave the cell unguarded. In fact, leave the entire penitent cell wing unguarded."

"Commander?" the guard blurted, surprise in his voice.

Kathryn nodded. In a voice used to command, she said, "Those are my orders. Carry them out."

"Er, yes Commander. At once."

The tray was taken, and the door closed once more.

"Now, where were we?"

"You wish to destroy my Empire," the Empress declared hotly.

With a deep sigh, Kathryn replied, "Not even close. Most Fereldans would agree, but your Empire's inevitable destruction is merely coincidental. Pleasant, to be sure; but coincidental nonetheless. And it is certainly not my goal."

"The Orlesian Empire shall last for eternity! Nothing could destroy it!"

The Warden stifled a yawn. "Bullshit, it was only a year ago that you were in the middle of a civil war. Your Empire was all but falling apart at the seams. Most of Ferelden and Nevarra were cheering both sides on with unseemly glee. Me? My Wardens and I were busy preparing."

"Preparing for what?" Justinia interjected.

"The end of Thedas."

The simplicity of the statement briefly stunned both women into silence.

"Preposterous!" Celene exploded.

"What do you mean, Warden-Commander?" Justinia asked, throwing a warning glare at her companion.

"I'm not sure I can be any clearer."

The Divine narrowed her eyes shrewdly. "As entertaining as baiting us is for you, perhaps you could explain your answer."

Kathryn gave her a lop-sided grin. "You priests always want to ruin everyone's fun. Fine, I'll let up if your prodigy over there can tell you why I've acted as I have."

Celene snarled. "An Exalted March was called on your pathetic, barbarous country. That is the only reason that you would risk taking me hostage. And to claim otherwise is…"

The elf snorted. "Stop. Just stop. I'm not one of your subjects. I don't need to act all submissive and pretend to believe that everything that comes out of your mouth is divinely-inspired truth." She leaned forward and pointed at the Empress. "Your country was on the verge of splitting into bickering fiefdoms. That was a direct consequence of the political environment you foster. You constantly play one faction off against another, and that's fine, so long as you are both visibly and materially stronger than every other faction. But when your leadership shows weakness, others start thinking that they could do a better job, and the whole thing comes crashing down. You won your civil war, thanks to me, but the resentment ran deep."

Justinia's eyes widened at the absurd claim. Celene was far more vocal. "In what possible way could you claim to have assisted me?"

Kathryn looked casually at her fingernails. "What do you know about Château d'Roche?"

Justinia blinked. "The consortium of usurers? Excuse me, I mean the money-lender-house?"

The Warden waved a hand lazily. "I am familiar with the term. And yes, that's the institution to which I refer."

Celene shared a look with the Divine. "What would I know of some common financier?" the Empress asked with a dismissive tilt of her head.

The elf snorted. "Given that between you, you owe them something in the order of seventy-five thousand sovereigns, I expected that you'd know a bit more."

Justinia fought to breathe steadily. "What relevance do the financial matters of our relative interests have to this discussion?"

Kathryn sighed. "I suppose some history would be useful at this point. Ten years ago, Château d'Roche was a relatively profitable usurer owned by a consortium of wealthy Orlesian families – many of whom were privy to information regarding the planning of the invasion of Ferelden masterminded by the Knight-Divine Darrian. They positioned their financial interests so as to be incomparably well placed to take advantage of an occupied Ferelden. But when the invasion plans fell apart, their investments became worthless."

The Empress' expression did not so much as flicker.

The mage continued. "Some of them even pledged the same assets as security several times over to other lenders, meaning that they were dangerously overexposed. Despite their outrage and shrill demands that the Exalted March take place, Beatrix could not indulge them. Thus, they were left in very precarious financial straits. Precarious enough that when they were approached by an agent of a wealthy benefactor who offered to buy their positions they leapt at the chance."

The Divine interrupted her. "It was my understanding that Château d'Roche was still owned by Orlesian families."

The elf gave a shrug. "In name, perhaps. But the gold was coming in from a different source, and the profits were going out the same way."

Celene kept her expression neutral, though the muscles in her jaw rippled. "And the relevance?"

"To your situation? During your recent civil war, both sides sought funding through Château d'Roche." She grinned nastily. "Foreign gold paid for your war. My gold."

"You…" the Empress started, seemingly shocked into speechlessness.

The Warden nodded happily. "And then, when your army finally defeated Gaspard de Chalons' forces, my usurer suddenly owned the debts of a lot of attainted, penniless ex-nobles."

Justinia frowned. "Château d'Roche did not appear to have any financial difficulties after the war ended," she tentatively offered.

"Of course not. The conditions imposed by bailing out the original owners involved holding the deeds to the majority of their property. Would it surprise you to know that I am one of the largest land owners in Orlais?" Kathryn asked smugly.

"Why did Château d'Roche offer such favourable terms then?" Celene demanded. "The interest rates offered were much lower than other usurers."

The Warden grinned happily. "Because we insisted on paying your army's suppliers directly, rather than just hand the gold over."

Celene stiffened noticeably. Justinia glanced at her. "Celene? What is it?"

Kathryn waved a hand airily. "Oh, she probably just realised that by choosing my organisation for her financial needs, the pair of you were essentially handing over vital intelligence about troop numbers, strength, equipment quality and deployment. A bill of sale and delivery schedule for a hundred pikes let us know where a poorly trained and equipped unit of a hundred footmen was stationed. Alistair found all those invoices splendidly useful for planning out his defensive campaign."

Justinia fought to keep her expression from betraying the horror she felt. How had the naïve children of a backwards country such as Ferelden developed such stratagems?

"We are, however, getting quite far afield," the mage said, bringing her hands together. "You had just won your civil war, and were left with a weakened, bickering noble class. The easiest method to bring all the forces in your Empire together was to manufacture and point them at a common enemy." With one last smirk, she finished with, "But that hasn't worked out as well as you hoped, has it?"

The Empress drew herself up haughtily. "I have no influence over the declarations of anathema by the Chantry," she claimed.

Justinia nodded. "That is true. The decision to call the March was made by my council, and to my heavy heart."

Kathryn rolled her eyes. "Members of your council were entertained over at the Imperial Palace on several occasions where the details on how to manipulate you into making the declaration were discussed."

The Divine turned a questioning gaze upon the Empress, who assumed an expression of offended innocence. "Such transparent lies," Celene said, shaking her head mournfully.

Kathryn gave a short, soft laugh. "You think I'm making it up? That cat you're holding - where did you get him?"

The Divine frowned at the apparent non-sequitur. "I believe one of my Revered Mothers gifted it to Her Majesty. The markings in his fur make up the Imperial Family's coat of arms. Quite a remarkable coincidence."

The Empress turned the cat to show the Warden the almost perfect bisected shield pattern in the fur. "A truly imperial animal," she smirked.

Kathryn raised an eyebrow, and mirrored the smirk. "Aloysius? If you would?"

"Aloysius?" Justinia questioned. "His name is D…"

Both women screamed in alarm as the cat in question leapt off Celene's lap and shimmered. A squat, elderly hunchback in mage robes appeared in the animal's place. "Arlessa Kathryn," the mage greeted with a painful-looking bow, supported by his staff. "Am I to be relieved?"

The Warden shook her head. "No, your mission is complete. Thank you, Aloysius. Your work has been exemplary. Please go and prepare your final report. Francois will probably need you to deliver his own report to Alistair."

The ugly man nodded. "Thank you. With your leave?"

At the Warden's nod and leaning heavily on his staff, the deformed man moved over to the door and knocked. The guard opened the door and started at the unexpected person, but at the Warden's approval, allowed the mage to exit the room.

The Divine fought to bring her breathing back under control. The Empress however, looked to be on the verge of hyperventilating. "That… that was a mage?"

The Warden gave her a long, disbelieving stare. "I'm not sure what confusion of thought would prompt such a question."

Celene almost screamed, "What did that abomination do to my poor little Dacey?"

Kathryn rolled her eyes. "That _was_ your poor little Dacey, woman. He's been listening in and reporting on your movements and actions for years now."

Horrified to her core at such an intimate infiltration, Justinia demanded, "How many…?" she stalled, unable to finish that horrible question.

"How many of Anora's Hands are there? No idea. I've met quite a few, and I've been obliged to assist several in the course of their missions, but I don't know how many of them there actually…"

"Non!" Justinia blurted, reverting to Orlesian in her haste. "How many other animals are spying on…" she paused, her eyes widening in realisation. "Oh no."

"Don't worry," the Warden assured her with an expression of wicked satisfaction at the Divine's discomfort. "Your pets are real animals."

Celene snapped her attention to the Warden. "Wait! Anora's Hands? What foolishness is this?"

"I'm sure you've heard of them."

"Of course I have heard of them," she snapped. "They were the subject of amused derision in my court. They were nothing but ignorant barbarians trying to play the Game. Such amusing conceit."

Kathryn grinned at her. "To start with, yes. Yes they were. But given you just met the one who has been listening in on every conversation you've had for the last six years, I find your conceit amusing too."

The Empress' expression darkened alarmingly.

With a shrug, the Warden turned her attention back to the Divine. "As we were saying, Celene here hosted several of the Revered Mothers who manipulated you into declaring an Exalted March on Ferelden. She wanted the warring factions of the Empire to unite against a common enemy, and you wanted to bring the templars and Seekers back under control. As military endeavours go, it has been a spectacular failure. But that has nothing to do with why I've invaded and taken Val Royeaux."

Justinia's eyes narrowed. "Even if I did believe your declaration, what other possible motive could you have?"

Kathryn shook her head. "Dear Maker, deliver me from fools unable to see past their own egos. _What am I_?" she demanded.

"I beg your pardon?"

"What. Am. I?" the mage repeated, as offensively sarcastic as she could.

Justinia glanced at Celene, who was still enraged. "A mage?' she ventured.

Once again, Kathryn looked at the ceiling. "Right. Someone talking about me always calls me 'The Mage'."

Justinia flushed with insight. "Oh! You are a Grey Warden!"

Said Warden gave the priest a slow clap. "Well done. 'The Warden'. That's what people call me. What does that tell you about my priorities?"

The Divine drew in a sharp breath. "No," she whispered. "There cannot be another Blight so soon!"

Kathryn nodded. "Very good. It's about time you showed some intelligence. And technically, you are correct. The darkspawn are not being led by an archdemon. They're being led by something so much worse."

"Preposterous!" the Empress exploded. "There are no darkspawn in Orlais!"

The Warden ignored her, keeping her gaze completely on the Divine.

Justinia swallowed. "Are the darkspawn coming here?"

With a nod, Kathryn replied, "Yes. The archdemon I faced was cunning, but not shrewd. The Hoard burst out in Ferelden, and just laid waste to it. The thing that leads it now knows that the best strategy is to shatter your enemies first. It marches its forces underground on Val Royeaux."

The Divine looked down at her hands. "Why did you not simply have the First Warden inform each nation of the danger?"

Kathryn winced. "He doesn't believe me. None of the other Wardens do. There has been no awakening archdemon, so their tainted song does not ring in our dreams." She clenched a fist. "Their idea of fighting the darkspawn is to train, patrol the Deep Roads near the surface, and wait for the next Blight." She shook her head. "Such a lack of vision."

Justinia tried hard to ignore Celene's expression. "If the normal signs are not there, how did you discover this threat?"

"I took some of my Wardens and descended into, and then beyond the Deep Roads; further than anyone has ever gone. We planned on destroying every broodmother we could, to take the fight to the darkspawn. Instead, we saw the power of the creature who leads the darkspawn. We felt the taint it bears. And we killed it."

That caused some confusion. "You... killed it?"

The Warden nodded. "Yes. Only, instead of staying dead, the sodding thing just moved to another body. Last time I saw it, it was walking around in the body of an ogre."

The Divine gasped. "It jumps bodies? Like the first archdemon?"

"Exactly! We have no idea how to kill it. Maybe it will take us another century to work it out. In any event, it marches on this city now. And all your sodding armies are off in the distance doing bugger all!"

There was silence for a time. Eventually, Justinia said, "And so you marched on Val Royeaux, taking the Empress and the Divine of the Chantry hostage. The Orlesian armies will try to save the Empress, joined by armies trying to rescue me."

Kathryn nodded somberly. "Yes. The darkspawn will be here first. Within days, I suspect. I need to keep them busy until they are surrounded."

"Why not simply let the darkspawn attack the city?" Justinia asked with no inflection.

"Your Perfection!" Celene gasped, aghast.

"Because," Kathryn overrode the Empress, "if Val Royeaux was overrun with darkspawn, every army would be ordered home to protect its own native soil. Weakened and divided, Thedas would fall. But… give all those armies a target they can face, a target that many would jump at the chance to face, and they'll come marching."

Justinia stared at the elf with a sudden, deep respect. "You intend to sacrifice yourself to give the armies time to get here."

The only response was a nod.

"Your life, your legacy, everything. Just to give us a chance to contain and defeat this army?

Another nod.

"Why?"

Kathryn frowned, as though the answer should have been obvious. "Because I am a Grey Warden. And Grey Wardens fight darkspawn. _By any means necessary_."

"But surely that means any weapon at your disposal?"

"No. I understand what that phrase means, above and beyond the lip service Weisshaupt pay it. Do you get it now? Do you get what I am sacrificing? I'm an elf, so even if the darkspawn are defeated, elves will probably be blamed for luring the armies here. I'm a mage, so even if the darkspawn are defeated, mages will probably be blamed for all the deaths caused. I am a native Fereldan, so no doubt they'll be held responsible too. By my actions, I am condemning generations of people as yet unborn to a lifetime of vilification, just to fight the darkspawn. _Now do you understand_?"

"You have two dragons out there!" Celene blurted, gesturing wildly at the window behind a shimmering barrier spell. "Not to mention your own power. What mindless hoard could prove a match for that?"

"It's not a mindless hoard," Kathryn shouted back at her. "The tainted thing that leads them is a mage so powerful that not even I can stand against it. It speaks, and the darkspawn obey. It thinks, and the darkspawn move to its will. The oncoming hoard is probably of a size as the one that invaded Ferelden, but that doesn't matter. This is not a mass of monsters rushing into a wall of arrows, with twenty falling for every one of our soldiers. This is an army, with units, tactics and strategy. It doesn't need supplies. It doesn't need morale. Any female caught by them live in unspeakable horror strengthening them, spawning able-bodied warriors after little more than a month."

"Non," Celene said, shaking her head. "It cannot be true."

"It is," the Warden said wearily. "And the truly worrying thing is that with no idea how to kill the general, all we may have to look forward to is a perpetual Blight."

Justinia found herself trembling. "This is all true. This is all really happening."

"It is."

She dropped her face into her hands. "Why has the Maker forsaken us?"

Kathryn sighed. "He hasn't."

Celene blinked at the calm surety in those two words. "How do you know?"

"Because even in the midst of the darkness, possibly the one single person capable of uniting every army in Thedas just walked in through the gates this morning and surrendered to me."

Empress and Divine shared a glance, both mentally running through an internal checklist of potential candidates.

Celene shook her head. "To whom do you refer?"

"Cassandra Pentaghast."

Justinia almost gasped. "Cassandra surrendered?"

The Warden grinned, and gave an honest chuckle. "Oh yes. Of course, she had every intention of escaping at the first opportunity."

"Had?" the Divine asked? "Is it she held in the cell you ordered unguarded?"

"Indeed. I no longer need to guard her. There are few stronger chains than those we make ourselves. I offered the answer to a question she has sought for years now. Until I give it to her, she will willingly stay as my guest."

"What answer? What question, for that matter?" Justinia asked.

"It is not relevant. But the Seekers will follow her. The templars will too, if you order it. Especially now that both orders are leaderless. With the backing of the Divine, she could act as the general of all Chantry forces. And as the Hero of Orlais, if Celene here gives her a commission, she could lead the Orlesian armies too. As a member of the Nevarran royal house, they and the Free Marches would follow her. The Anderfels would defer to the Grey Wardens, who in turn would happily work with someone capable of controlling all those troops. Antivan and Rivaini military is weighted more towards naval forces, and since the darkspawn don't swim, they'd be useful in a supporting role, and wouldn't need to directly report to her."

"And Ferelden? And your Wardens? What of them?"

Kathryn shrugged. "Francois knows of my plans. He would defer to her on my order. As would Alistair. As would little Endrin for that matter. I never thought I'd wish that Bhelen was still around. Anyway, several thousand dwarf warriors would be very helpful at present." She suddenly looked up and a smile blossomed on her face. "Ah. They're here. I have to go. Excuse me."

"Who's here?" the Divine asked as the Warden rose.

"The rescue party. They just broke the ward I set inside the lock."

Celene's expression grew focused as the elf rose and almost danced on her way to the door. "Why did you order the key to her cell placed on that tray then?"

"Because I dare say that a dear friend is, as we speak, trying to free her."

Justinia and Celene observed in silence as the Warden left. The holy woman turned to the Empress and observed her closely. "You do not believe her," she stated.

Celene swallowed. "I am not convinced, no. But, I am going to act as though I believe it."

"Oh? Why?"

Celene swallowed again, her voice on the verge of cracking. "Because if Anora's Hands exist and are active, then so may well Alistair's Fist be."

Justinia blinked. "The assassin ghost? But he's just a story! A rumour!"

"Perhaps," Celene offered. "But I thought the same of Anora's Hands." She turned to glare at the door. "And in the last few years, there have been a _great many_ suspicious deaths among those in my court who advocated military action against Ferelden."

* * *

><p>The pair watched and waited. The haphazard patrols made evading detection simple enough. Eventually, emboldened by their observations, they darted towards the outbuilding containing the penitent cells.<p>

They found no guards, against their expectations.

"Forgive me, but I always assumed that skulking and skullduggery involved a somewhat higher risk of discovery," the male offered his companion in a soft, light-hearted whisper.

"Shush, Galen," the red-haired woman replied just as softly, her senses alert for danger.

Slowly, not quite believing their luck, the pair moved down the dark, silent hall. The only light in the corridor came from under the crack of one of the cell doors, towards the end of the corridor.

"This is not right."

"Perhaps the Fereldans do not have the manpower to guard a prisoner? Even so, I would have thought that Commander Kathryn would have placed a barrier over the doorway," the man called Gaylen whispered.

"Yes. Why would she not? Is this a trap?"

Gaylen swallowed. "Leliana, my nerves are as tight as lute strings. Please don't make this dreadful business any worse."

Leliana reached out and gently touched his shoulder. In the dark, he did not see the movement, and leapt a bit at the unexpected contact.

"Can you make us some light? As faint as you can."

Gaylen whispered a few words, and a faint sprite appeared in his palm. In the oppressive darkness, the light from the conjuration spread quite a distance down the corridor. There was a guard's stool next to the occupied cell's door, but instead of a guard, a tray with some bottles and glasses rested upon the seat.

Leliana shook her head. "No traps. No guards. This is too easy."

"There is light within that cell. Perhaps we should knock?"

"No. There might be a guard within with Cassandra. We need to try and surprise them. Come; hold your light up near the door."

Leliana dropped to one knee and withdrew a set of lock-picks from her belt. As she examined the lock, Gaylen looked over at the tray on the stool. Frowning slightly, he leaned closer.

"Leliana?"

"Hush, Gaylen, I'm concentrating."

Gaylen gingerly picked up the note prominently propped up against the glasses on the tray. "You need to look at this," he insisted.

"Not now, Gaylen," she whispered back. "Hold you light closer please, doing this blind is very difficult."

Gaylen swallowed, and picked up another object from the tray. "Here. Perhaps this will help," he said, passing it to her.

With a frustrated expression, Leliana turned away from the lock to stare at the key in his hand. "What? Where was that?"

"On the tray here, with this note. Addressed to you."

Leliana glanced from the key to the folded vellum sheet. She gingerly took the note and read her name on the front. "It is Kathryn's handwriting," she confirmed.

Gaylen swallowed, looking very nervous. "Does that mean she wants us to free Cassandra? Or that she intends to spring a trap and capture us too?"

Leliana did not answer. She turned the note over and broke the seal. "Hold your light steady please," she whispered.

The note was short. Just one sentence. Leliana's shoulders slumped.

"What is it?" Gaylen asked, his voice on the verge of panic.

"Here," she said, passing the note to him. She turned to look at the tray. Two bottles of wine and four glasses.

"'_I have left four glasses because I wasn__'__t sure if Regaylen would be joining us __–__ regards, Kathryn__'_," the mage softly read out aloud. Even in a whisper, his voice wavered. "Leliana, she knows we're here!"

Leliana shook her head. "Not necessarily. This only means she expected me to try and free Cassandra, and that she wasn't sure if you would be assisting." She made a face and gave a frustrated sigh. "Ooooo! That note is so very… so very… _Kathryn_."

"But-"

"No, Galen. Kathryn is dangerous, and she is capable of tremendous violence, but she isn't needlessly cruel."

"You last saw her ten years ago," he pointed out. "People change."

"Please, just trust me." She gently inserted the key into the lock and turned.

The lock clanked noisily, echoing in the long dark chamber.

Carefully, Leliana pulled the cell door open and looked inside.

Cassandra was alone within, sitting at a tiny desk. A single lit candle was the only source of illumination. She had a quill in hand and looked to be in the middle of writing out copious notes, though she was looking at the open door with no surprise evident on her face at all. "Any trouble?" she asked flatly.

Leliana shook her head. "No. None at all. It appears that Kathryn has allowed us to free you." She looked closely at her fellow Seeker. "Cassandra! Your face; were you assaulted?"

Cassandra touched her tender cheek, but shook her head and gave a soft sigh of frustration. "It is nothing. And I- I cannot go."

"What?" Gaylen blurted, pushing past Leliana. "Cassandra, we must go! You surrendered to get access to the Warden, and now it's time we left!" he declared while his hands weaved in an intricate dance. Blue light glittered around the injured Seeker's wounds, washing the blemishes away.

Cassandra sighed, smiled with gratitude, and began leafing through the pages of notes she had made. "She knows, Leliana. Kathryn Surana knows what happened to the Vanished."

Leliana stiffened. "The Vanished? How is that possible?"

"I have a suspicion," she ground out through a tight expression.

"The Vanished what?" Gaylen asked, bewilderment in his voice.

"It is a secret, Gaylen," Leliana replied.

"Twelve templars all disappeared from different parts of Thedas on the same night, seven years ago," Cassandra told him flatly.

"Cassandra!" Leliana gasped.

"Look around you!" Cassandra snapped at her. "Who are we protecting by keeping the secret? The Chantry is shattered. The Maker has turned his back upon it. The Chant of Light is corrupted. The wrong priests rise to power and play at politics instead of following the teachings of Andraste. The secret of the Vanished was that the Chantry was complicit in an unspeakable horror."

Leliana held a hand up to her mouth, her expression horrified. "What has happened to you?" she asked softly.

Cassandra shook her head and closed her eyes. "The Warden's story… it is awful. It wasn't the excommunicated templars who chose to turn her into a broodmother – it was a Revered Mother and a Grand Cleric of the Chantry who ordered it. The Divine herself promoted the templars who undertook the mission."

"But they were all excommunicated."

"No," Cassandra snapped. "No, they weren't. They were rewarded - promoted and sent to different Circles and Cathedrals across Thedas. Twelve innocent templars were excommunicated in their place, merely to keep their identities and the Divine's complicity a secret. And then all the guilty templars Vanished."

Leliana's jaw dropped. "How can you be sure?"

"Kathryn knows things that she should not; that she could not. Not unless her story is true. And she knows what happened to Alexander."

Leliana's eyes widened. "She does?"

"She does," said a voice from the door.

Gaylen gave a whimper of shock and spun around, his hands up and ready to cast. Leliana spun with rather more grace, her hands slipping to the hilts of her long daggers.

Kathryn stood in the doorway, quite unconcerned, holding the golden tray with the two bottles and four crystal goblets. With a nod, she said, "It's nice to see you again, Leliana."

The red-head swallowed nervously and rose from her crouch, slowly removing her hands from her daggers. "You too, my friend."

"And you must be Regaylen," the elf continued, letting her gaze drift over to the nervous mage. "Welcome. Please, take a seat. Wine?"

"Why are you doing this, Kathryn?" Leliana asked, her melodic voice tinged with regret.

Kathryn walked into the now crowded cell and placed the tray on the desk. "I have done many things recently. Nearly all of them I found distasteful. Are you referring to anything in particular?" She crooked her finger and lights sprang up around the room. Leliana and Gaylen blinked at the sudden illumination.

"Assaulting Val Royeaux, abducting the Empress, imprisoning the Divine, all of it!"

Kathryn nodded, her expression genuinely mournful. "Yes, dreadful business. Necessary, but dreadful, nonetheless." She broke the wax seal and poured the sparkling liquid into the glasses, the stream sparkling in the candlelight. "Here. Try this, I got it from the Divine's private stash. Sit down, and I'll explain."

Cassandra watched as the tiny woman picked up two glasses and held them out, first to Gaylen, and then Leliana. Both accepted the offering with confused caution. Cassandra simply reached out and grabbed one of the remaining goblets and raised it to her lips. With a smile and a nod, Kathryn followed suit.

Gaylen and Leliana shared a look, but both took a sip. "Oh, this is delightful!" Leliana blurted, her eyes alight. "What is it?" She took another sip.

"It's the wine the Divine uses in the ceremony to mark the transition between the ages."

Gaylen's eyes bulged, and he spat the wine back into the glass. Leliana didn't manage to be quite so discreet, her mouthful sprayed out all over the cell.

"It's not that bad," Kathryn chided them with amusement.

"We can't drink this!" Leliana exclaimed, holding her glass out as though she wished she had longer arms. "This wine is sacred!"

Kathryn shrugged. "Rare, certainly. Sacred? Hardly."

"But," Leliana started, before gaping at Cassandra, who had just downed the wine in one go.

"Enough," the Nevarran said, setting the empty glass down. "I wish to know what became of my cousin."

Kathryn raised her glass and took a sip. "Yes, I suppose you do. Well, he is alive, he is at Soldier's Peak, and he is one of my Grey Wardens."

Cassandra closed her eyes and breathed deeply, feeling a weight lift from her.

Leliana's expression looked a little wary. "Did you forbid Alexander from contacting his family?"

"Not directly," Kathryn replied with a smirk. "But he does not exactly have the opportunity to write."

Gaylen watched the byplay between the three women. "Er, may I ask a question?"

"By all means."

"If Cassandra's cousin Alexander is one of the, er, the Vanished templars, are the others at Soldier's Peak too?"

Kathryn nodded at him approvingly. "Excellent. And yes, they are. The nine still living, at any rate."

"Are they captives, or Grey Wardens too?" Leliana demanded.

"Both."

Cassandra felt her arms pucker with gooseflesh. Seven years as a captive of someone they tormented so horrifically – it didn't bear thinking about. "Are they all Grey Wardens?" she asked, seeking clarification of the vague answer.

"Yes."

Leliana bit her lower lip in thought. "You would always turn your enemies into your allies, given the chance," she said. "But if they cannot leave, or even write to their families, how are they of any use to you? Do you still not trust them?"

The smile that grew on Kathryn's face belied Leliana's earlier claim that she was not needlessly cruel. Leliana had seen such an expression only on those who took pleasure in the suffering of others. "Oh, they would cheerfully stab me in the back given half a chance, but they have proven their worth over and over. And will do so for years yet."

Cassandra and Gaylen frowned at the cryptic response, but Leliana suddenly gasped in horror. "No! Oh no, dear Maker, no! Please tell me that you did not!"

Kathryn smirked and nodded with satisfaction at her former companion's deduction. "I did. And they've been incredibly useful."

Gaylen was shocked at the tears in Leliana's eyes. "What? What is it?" he asked her, reaching out for her hand.

Leliana snatched her hand away and reached for her weapons. "How could you?" she demanded, her melodious voice hard.

The Warden sneered. "Because they deserved it!" she spat back.

"Deserved what?" Cassandra demanded, pushing herself between the two friends.

Leliana stared at Kathryn for a long moment before she sobbed, spun away and stormed over to the corner.

"Deserved what?" Cassandra demanded, louder.

Kathryn turned her unperturbed gaze upon her. "They deserved to be delivered to Avernus for him to continue his experiments."

o_ooo000ooo_o

AN: Thanks to my reviewers, Robbie the Phoenix, Nightbrainzz, MB18932, torroar(x7!), NPC200, Aeonir, RakeeshJ4, Forget Logic. Punch Stuff, demonman21, AllisterH, ThorShared, Zanros, Eucharion, Nate88, Pintsizedpsycho, Bhoddisatva, Isabeau of Greenlea, sizuka2, Ie-maru, SgtGinger, unanimously anonymous. mostly, Arsinoe de Blassenville, Mike3207, Jormund Elver, Acaila, Dragon Void, Sauurman, Fan, Quirky and a couple of guests.


	28. Warden smashes board Game over

disclaimer type=standard

Anything you recognize is Bioware's. I dare say anything else belongs to them too.

/disclaimer

o_ooo000ooo_o

Kathryn sipped her wine as her audience reacted. Cassandra merely blinked and looked a little taken aback. But her stony countenance showed that she no longer had any sympathy for the Vanished templars. Gaylen was confused, looking to the others for clarification rather than question Kathryn. Leliana leaned against the wall in the corner of the cell, refusing to look at anyone. She shook her head and moved her lips in silent prayer.

"Pardon me," Gaylen said tentatively, "may I ask, who is Avernus?"

Leliana snapped her head around and glared at Kathryn as though daring her to either lie or downplay her answer.

"He is a bastard. An ancient, evil, full blooded bastard," Kathryn replied easily, to Leliana's mildly surprised expression. "Two hundred and thirty-odd years old, at our best guess. He was a contemporary of Sophia Dryden, the Warden-Commander of the Ferelden Grey Wardens during the uprising that ended with the Wardens expelled. He singlehandedly ended the battle by summoning demons, and survived since by using blood magic. He performed amoral, even gruesome, experiments on other Grey Wardens. His two redeeming features are his peerless intellect and his devotion to the goal of the Grey Wardens."

Gaylen swallowed audibly. "You gave the Vanished templars to him?" He asked in a voice an octave above his usual smooth tenor.

The Warden nodded. "I did. We were in the middle of the Blight when I met him. I was horrified by his history and actions, but at the time, _I needed him_. I willingly used the fruits of his research, but insisted that any and all future experiments were done humanely." She took a deep breath and let it out in a low, slow sigh. "But such naivety was burned out of me. Those templars have been invaluable as research subjects."

Cassandra scoffed. "Using his research to become more powerful was not naive," she pointed out.

Kathryn gave her an abashed look. "Relatively naive, then."

Cassandra gave that a snort. "You misrepresent everything, don't you? You really are a manipulative bitch, aren't you?"

Leliana's eyes widened at that, while Gaylen scooted back in an effort to put more distance between him and the elf.

Kathryn merely bowed. "Thank you. I actually just came from a lovely meeting with Dot and Celene. I rather think I may have brought them round to doing what I want."

Leliana gave a soft gasp at the blatant disrespect, but Cassandra just rubbed her forehead. "Dot? Her Perfection, the Divine Justinia the Fifth, is just 'Dot' to you?"

Gaylen also gave a soft gasp as he made the connection.

"Well, Dorothea is such a mouthful."

Cassandra's mocking chuckle caused some distress to her comrades. "May I ask how you manipulated them?"

With hands spread magnanimously, the elf replied, "Of course you may. I simply told them my reason for deciding to capture Val Royeaux. And them too, I suppose. I told them that Thedas was doomed, and that I was simply doing what was necessary to give us a slender chance at survival."

Cassandra and Leliana shared a look filled with skepticism. "They believed you?"

A self-deprecating shrug preceded the response. "I was most persuasive. I revealed some pretty convincing evidence that every conversation Celene has conducted over the last six years has been reported back to Anora. I also told them that I controlled their usurer of choice for funding their wars."

Cassandra blinked in surprise. "Do you?"

"Well," she drawled, "it's a bit of an exaggeration, I'll admit."

"You lied."

"Maybe just a little," she admitted. "It was more or less true. True-ish, if you will."

Leliana decided to enter the conversation. "Why would you lie to them?"

Kathryn turned her gaze to her old friend. "I didn't lie outright. I do own part of Château d'Roche. I bought and paid for my share with their own money, funnily enough. That little adventure was a laugh, let me tell you. But as to why – I needed the pair feeling helpless."

"Helpless," Cassandra repeated.

"Yes. Those women have held power for so long that helplessness is alien to them; they always have control over some aspect of whatever situation they're in. I need them to be unsure, to be desperate for assistance. My assistance. They've been taken from their usual guarded routines, informed that their private conversations have been eavesdropped upon, told that the entire world is in danger of being destroyed and that not even their financial affairs are secret. Tomorrow when I meet with them again, they'll give me what I want, and I won't even have to threaten them to get it."

"And just what is it that you want, Kathryn?" Leliana asked softly.

Kathryn gave her an amused smile. "Later. I need to continue my tale. I wouldn't want to ruin the surprise."

Leliana lifted her chin. "And if we wish to leave?"

The elf glanced at Cassandra, evaluating her reaction. She smiled, looked back at Leliana and tilted her head to one side. "Door's to your left."

There was silence in the cell for a few long moments. Eventually, Cassandra crossed her arms and leaned against the wall. With her non-verbal declaration that she was staying put, she said, "You were about to describe how you escaped being made a broodmother."

Kathryn grinned impishly at her, and gave Leliana a wink. "I was." She drained her glass, then reached out and picked up the open wine bottle. "But first, grab the other bottle and your glasses. This cell is a bit too cramped for four of us. Let's go to my rooms, and I'll continue my tale as we walk."

o_ooo000ooo_o

Amid the roars of outrage and normal rage, I felt my breath cross my lips, causing my body soften and flow. The myriad aches and pains faded, replaced by coiled strength and power. I closed my eyes and luxuriated in the sensation of assuming another form.

When I opened my eyes, the world was oddly bifurcated, with my eyes now located on the sides of my skull. But my vision was incredible; I could see unbelievable details in the low light.

I sucked in a breath, opened my jaws and _screamed_. Despite my situation, the analytical part of my mind noted with satisfaction that the bones in my jaw shifted in such a way that they blocked off my ears, just as I'd discovered on the top of Fort Drakon. A fortuitous circumstance, given the volume of my roar. With nowhere to go, the sound reverberated in the cavern, magnifying the volume to almost inconceivable levels.

The darkspawn scattered or staggered stunned. With one extremely satisfying swipe of my foreleg, I swatted an ogre weighing perhaps half a ton clear across the entire cavern. It struck the far wall with a damp thump before sliding into a boneless heap.

I struggled to lift my body off the ground; the first time in a new body can be a disconcerting experience, what with unaccustomed limb length and a reversed pelvis. Not to mention a pair of gigantic wings.

Still, desperation is the great motivator. I staggered upright, and began thrashing around, whipping my enormous tail back and forth. Hurlocks and genlocks were turned into paste as I crushed them against stalagmites. I raised myself onto my rear legs and dropped down hard, crushing perhaps half a dozen darkspawn under my front talons.

There was no finesse, no élan. I thrashed around without care to the pain I did myself against the sharp and immovable rocks of the cavern. I ignored the rocks that rained down from the ceiling as my body crashed into the ceiling and walls. In an animalistic fervour, I crushed and minced and splattered more darkspawn in half a minute than I had killed since the end of the Blight. I stamped and slapped at them as I would spiders and mosquitoes.

As soon as I noticed that my rampage was no longer killing anything, I paused and looked around. My thrashing had caused a couple of connecting tunnels to cave in, but howls of fear echoed up one open wide tunnel. They came from the darkspawn who had fled me.

I was not going to let them get away.

I stuck my long neck down the tunnel and breathed deep. With pyrotechnic joy, I gushed flame, filling the tunnel and immolating everything within for hundreds of yards. Darkspawn disintegrated amid the intense heat, with only their bones surviving more than a few seconds.

Liquid fire rushed out of my mouth, but instinctive as it was, it was not a biological ability. I noticed the heavy drain on my still-recovering mana too late.

Without magic to sustain the transformation, I was forced back into the form of an elf with a throat full of dragonfire; perhaps the single most painful experience of my life. My vocal chords melted. My oesophagus was deeply scorched and seared. I clutched at my neck, unable to scream. Unable to breath.

For a few, eternally long seconds I thrashed around, rolling from side to side and kicking the stone floor hard with my heels. Instinctively, my hands flared blue the moment my mana reserves recovered enough to do so. The relief from the pain in my throat was indescribable.

Still lying prone, I cast healing spells with all the power and skill I could muster. Within a hundred heartbeats, my body was sound enough to stand.

I did not stand however, despite the ability to do so. Emotional relief flooded over me in a wave that left me curled up on the hard, blood-slick stone. For the first time in long weeks I was free. I was no longer a prisoner of sadistic madmen. I was no longer a captive of darkspawn seeking to induct me into a living hell.

I wept uncontrollably.

o_ooo000ooo_o

"Was that how your voice… ended up the way it is?" Leliana asked.

"Ruined, you mean?" Kathryn swallowed and nodded.

"I'm sorry, my friend."

Kathryn gave a shrug. "It's not as though I had a wonderful singing voice beforehand. It's no great loss. At least I can still speak."

o_ooo000ooo_o

I don't know how long I lay there crying.

I was surrounded by darkspawn bodies, both dead and dying. But here, miles below the surface, naked, unarmed and surrounded by mortal enemies, I felt safer than I had for a long time. I lay, curled up in ball, arms clutched around my legs.

As stupid as it sounded, it was my prosaic stomach growls that focused my attention, drawing me out of my self-pitying funk. Hunger had been a constant companion ever since the first night as the guest of honour with Darrian's templars. But now I was in a position to do something about it. I staggered upright and took stock.

I could see well enough in the dark tunnels. A few patches of oily fire provided enough illumination. It was about the only thing a darkspawn was useful for. Or, in this case, a darkspawn corpse.

The cavern was unrecognizable from how it looked just minutes before. I couldn't be sure just where the group that had carried me had entered from. But the most likely tunnel was one of the ones I'd collapsed.

I took a few moments to make certain that every last darkspawn in the chamber was dead. It felt good to inflict some violence upon those who deserved it. It felt empowering, a feeling I really needed. I scoured the place for usable weapons or clothing, but there was little beyond a stinking tunic I tore up and wrapped around my feet as rough shoes.

And so, naked, hungry and very, very angry, I picked a tunnel at random and set off into the darkness.

* * *

><p>Hunger defined my time in the darkspawn-infested tunnels. With my magic I could weave dancing sprites to light my way, heel my cut and blistered feet and conjure flames for warmth. I could block off a tunnel with a barrier spell and wards to ensure I was safe as I slept. I could even freeze a rock and collect the frost to thaw and drink, but I couldn't create food. And this close to a darkspawn nest - or the remains of one, at least - there was precious little of anything remotely edible.<p>

I sucked the marrow from the bones of a long-dead deepstalker. I tore lichen off the rocks around a muddy puddle. One glorious day I feasted on a giant spider who tried to capture me. I roasted that thing long and hard before gorging on the sticky innards.

I kept moving, picking any tunnel that led even vaguely upwards. Many were blind, ending in a sheer rock face. Some were blocked by rock falls. Those presented less difficulty to me, a mouse could pass through quite small openings.

But I was hopelessly lost. And there were still darkspawn around, drawn to me by the taint in my veins. Without a handy cavern, I could not assume my archdemon form, no matter how imposing it was. But I had other talents almost as good at killing darkspawn.

Without a dwarf's stone sense, I had no way of judging time. I could have been wandering for days or weeks. Hunger still drove me on. After sleeping three times in a row without finding food, I finally snapped. The next darkspawn group I found, I killed. I cooked. And I ate.

And with the disgusting meat still stuck in my teeth, I giggled.

o_ooo000ooo_o

Leliana blinked back tears as her friend spoke. Tentatively, she reached out and took Kathryn's hand. The elf paused her narration, looking down at the hand with mild surprise. But she looked back up at Leliana's face, and smiled. Genuinely.

o_ooo000ooo_o

Time lost all meaning. I moved from tunnel to tunnel, searching for my next meal.

I lost myself. I became a predator. Anything in my tunnels was fair game.

Survival was my only goal. Nothing else mattered.

I prowled the darkness.

I had forgotten what I was searching for. Perhaps I had come close to finding it, only to drift away in a different direction.

I may have stayed in the tunnels perpetually, feasting on darkspawn flesh had it not been for a flickering flame.

I tore blackened meat from a genlock thigh with my teeth when I saw the dying flames on a darkspawn tunic all lean in the same direction. I blinked and stared at it, trying to remember what it meant.

It happened again; the flames went from dancing upright to all pointing down the tunnel. I dropped my food and threw myself down onto my belly to put my nose close to the flames.

There! Only this time, I felt a cool breeze on my cheek. A breeze that carried a faint smell.

I scrabbled to my feet and ran down the tunnel, sniffing the air, waving my hands around, searching for a tiny temperature difference.

The tunnel ended.

But the hint of scent in the air was stronger here. I ran my hands over the rock face, searching for the source of that maddening smell.

There it was. A natural fissure in the rock. I could barely push my hand in past my fingers.

I shifted into my mouse form; almost without thinking. I scrabbled deep into that tiny break, desperation rising. I pushed and shoved, scraping fur from my back. It opened up to a small space in between boulders. Too small for me to assume my normal form.

I kept searching. There was no light here, and no way for me to use magic. I sniffed the air, I listened to the rocks. Inch by inch, occasionally doubling back, I made my way closer towards freedom.

My paws touched water. Frigid, icy water ran down the inside of the rocks. Still, I pushed past.

There it was. A glimmer in the air. Motes of dust lit up like floating gold in that glorious light. A pile of rocks blocked off the tunnel, but there was a single aperture, like a needle's eye, letting in that glorious light.

I don't know when I turned back into an elf. My fingernails oozed blood as I dug into the rocks and pulled, tossing the loose ones behind me. The glimmer turned into a narrow beam of bright light, which erupted into a shaft as I hurled the next rock away.

I shielded my eyes against the pain lancing through them. I didn't stop though. I pushed forward, through the tiny opening, grunting and moaning.

Then, I was past the rocks. I crawled out of the tunnels, covered in blood and filth. Cool air surrounded me, air that smelled of dirt and leaves and flowers. I put one foot underneath me, and pushed myself upright.

I raised my arms to the glorious sky and screamed.

I screamed with relief.

I screamed with triumph.

I screamed with freedom.

Once my breath had been exhausted, I slumped down. I put my palms down onto the rocky earth, and made a fist with one hand. Soil oozed out from between my fingers.

My shoulders shuddered. To my astonishment, I found myself laughing. I could almost feel the lack of heavy stone all around me. It felt vaguely as though I was about to fall into the sky. I giggled and cackled at the odd sensation for a long time.

How long? Time meant little. But my vocal histrionics had attracted attention.

"Is that… an elf? Is it Dalish?"

I snapped my head around, startled. Three figures stood perhaps twenty yards away, weapons in hand. Two men and one woman. All human.

My heart skipped a beat, and I cowered back in fright. But it wasn't the sight of the weapons that terrified me. It was the symbol on their armour.

A word flashed across my mind. Templars.

Without rock surrounding me on all sides, instead of hemmed in, I felt unaccountably vulnerable. I snarled at them, a threatening, animalistic sound that surprised me. It seemed to frighten them too. They drew their weapons, and advanced on me.

"I can't see any tattoos, but she's covered in muck. You, elf! Do you speak?" one asked.

I scrabbled back, away from them, my eyes darting. Cataloguing. Assessing.

"I said, do you speak?" the templar demanded once more.

"She may be an imbecile, Ser," the female of the group suggested.

The third shook his head. "Subdue her. We can interrogate her back at camp."

Their manner shifted from cautious to aggressive. I barked a word and gestured, sending a shard of high-velocity stone to take that one low in the belly, blasting him backwards.

"Mage!" the woman shouted.

"Smite her!" the third male shouted as he leapt forward.

But I was already casting. My body ebbed and flowed, solidifying into a gigantic, draconic nightmare. The charging templar suddenly tried reversing his direction while in mid-air, a girlish scream of terror erupting from his lips. The female was shocked into immobility, part way through her Smite. She stood still, staring at me and stunned with a wide-eyed expression of pure horror.

I raised a foreleg and slammed it down on the incautiously charging warrior. His shriek of terror ended abruptly, with a unique squelchy crunch of deformed metal and exploding organs.

"Maker preserve me!" the other man expressed with a guttural wheeze, still lying prone and winded. I drew a breath and spat a glob of liquid fire at him. He made no further sound as his body dissolved into a puddle of molten metal and ash.

The female templar squealed, turned and ran, her longsword and shield discarded in her mindless, panicked flight. I swung my serpentine neck around, judging her direction and speed. I drew breath again and gushed flame once more, igniting both her and the forest around her.

Her screams echoed off through the woods as she ran, a living pillar of flame. She whipped her arms back and forth in a vain effort to wipe the fire off her body.

The sound died out presently. Peace settled, with only the light crackle and pops of burning wood punctuating the silence.

I glanced down at my foreleg, raising it high and examining the scales underneath.

Ugh.

I scraped the disgusting remains from my foot against an outcropping of rock.

o_ooo000ooo_o

Gaylen withdrew a small square of material and held it to his mouth, looking suddenly very pale. He looked down at the glass of irreplaceable wine in his other hand, and decided that settled nerves were more important than keeping a glass of ceremonial wine intact. Even if there were only two bottles of it made every hundred years.

He gulped the glass down.

o_ooo000ooo_o

Once my foot was more or less clean of templar remains, I raised my head high and looked around. With a vantage point high above the nearby treetops, I had a clear view. And what a view. I could see for leagues with my archdemonic eyes.

I let out a roar, unfurled my wings, took two steps and leapt into the air.

The trees some thirty yards away or so cushioned my landing quite nicely. Though they were only fit for kindling afterwards.

I shook my body to rid myself of the aches and pains from the hard landing. Flying was obviously going to take a bit of getting used to. I quickly reviewed my memories of watching dragons in flight. While still with my feet on the ground, I undulated my body, trying to mimic the remembered action.

After a few moments of practice, I discovered a way of moving that felt… right. I backed up once again, ran a few steps to gain momentum, and jumped…

It was hard work at first. I thrashed hard with my wings, inelegantly and inefficiently. Lifting my enormous body took correspondingly enormous amounts of effort. But, slowly, I rose further and further into the air. With sufficient height, I could lock my wings outstretched and bank to one side. I turned gracefully and sped out over the forest below.

As Morrigan had told me long ago, flying was the single most glorious experience imaginable. The speed, the rushing wind, the sensation of freedom; it was incredible. I twisted and turned my wings in the air, noting the subtle changes that resulted in directional shifts.

The birds in the surrounding airspace gave me a wide berth. I flew through a cloud, discovering that it was like being hit with a bunch of cold, damp fog.

Once I was confident in my ability to retain my height above the ground without conscious direction, I looked around the landscape from perhaps half a mile above. Below me, laid out like the most detailed map in existence, lay Ferelden. The Korcari Wilds, to be exact.

Indeed, to one side many leagues away I could even see the fortress of Ostagar. Complete with tiny, patrolling figures.

Figures that glittered in the early morning sunlight.

I snarled, suddenly feeling belligerent. If there were more templars there, then I was going to sort the bastards out.

I beat my wings hard, gaining even more height. I changed direction and flew towards my target. Once in position, I then banked to one side, instinctively angling myself around for an aerial attack from the east.

I burst out of the bright morning sun above the fortress just seconds before letting loose a long, steady breath of flame. The surprise was universal. Half a dozen tempars leapt from the high stone bridge rather than be burned. As I ended the run and began the hard climb back into the sky, I glanced over my shoulder and saw a bright ribbon of flame stretching from one side of Ostagar to the other, right along the bridge joining the two camps.

I flew around again, gaining height once more.

A few arrows rose to greet me on my second run. I was clearly travelling faster than anyone on the ground expected, because the few shafts that struck me only glanced off my tail. I ignored the flimsy things, happily belching out gobs of dragonfire on specific targets. The command centre of the camp went up first, centred on the very spot where Duncan had tended his fire the night of my Joining. The next spot to be destroyed was at the base of the Tower of Ishal, where the templars had set up their supply depot.

I noted with wry amusement that one Templar with more intelligence than usual had tried to shoot a ballista bolt in my direction. He missed of course – it would be highly unlikely to hit a moving target on your first attempt.

I fought for height once again. This time, I circled around well out of even ballista range, looking for another juicy target. I could easily make out individual templars running around like ants from a disturbed nest. From this height, the two circular bonfires joined by a thin ribbon of flame looked pleasingly symmetrical.

A lot of templars were fleeing, spilling out into the surrounding boglands on either side of the fortress. The landscape formed natural bottlenecks; satisfyingly attractive to my destructive urges.

Rather than simply flame them from above, I dove and landed hard in the midst of the panicking warriors, crushing perhaps a dozen with – literally – a fell swoop. I stamped and stomped and swatted the bastards, even biting a couple in two. When the scattering figures looked to be getting away, I drew breath and screamed at the top of my lungs, universally sending them to their knees, clutching at their ears.

I hunted them down. First in their dozens, then as the day wore on, in smaller groups. In the days subsequent, I hunted them down in pairs and finally, one by one. Ostagar was many days march from the nearest major settlement, and with the ability to fly and spot movement from a great height, not many escaped me. Those who wore no armour tended to be more difficult to spot. However, that meant that they were wandering in a dangerous forest full of wolves and spiders without any protection. Few could survive such dangers.

o_ooo000ooo_o

The quartet reached their destination, Kathryn's luxurious rooms.

"The Imperial suite?" Cassandra asked sardonically. "You are staying in the Empress' own rooms?"

The Warden snorted. "She has an entire palace spitting distance from the front gate of the Grand Cathedral. Has she ever even stayed here?"

The Seekers shared a glance. "Not to my knowledge," Leliana offered as they opened the beautifully engraved and inlaid doors.

"Well then, why is it called the Imperial Suite?"

Cassandra gritted her teeth. Giving the obvious answer – that it was in case the Empress' whim dictated that she stay – would no doubt give the sarcastic elf an opening for a long rant against the astonishing waste of resources by the Chantry. "Does it matter?" she demanded, striding into the opulent room. Without waiting for an answer, she went on. "I would like to know what happened after you butchered the entire templar force stationed at Ostagar. No one knows what happened to you for many months afterwards."

"Well, no, there wouldn't have been any reports. It's a bit inexact, but I estimate that I was underground for between four and six weeks. I had completely lost my mind. Being even bigger than a high dragon agreed with me, and I remained that way for weeks, lairing at what was left of Ostagar, nesting on the top of the Tower of Ishal. I had no predators, and plenty of game to eat."

Leliana kept her hand in Kathryn's, hoping that it would keep her calm. "If it was so comfortable, why did you return at all?"

Kathryn gave a wistful smile. "I may well have stayed. But during my hunting, I was visible for leagues around. On a clear day, people on the road south of Lothering could see me if the cloud cover was minimal. Rumours of a vengeful dragon in the south burning up the forest ensured a coward like Ceorlic would beg for royal aid. The King of course just sent his resident dragon and dragon-slaying experts to investigate."

Cassandra nodded, making the connection. "The Grey Wardens."

Kathryn laughed at her tone, and sat down on a decadently plush couch. "Exactly. Nate, Oghren and Jowan and his Lily headed south to check.

Leliana frowned. "His Lily? Wasn't that the name of the Chantry initiate he wanted to run away with?"

"Yup," the elf said with a shrug. "He named his familiar after her."

o_ooo000ooo_o

"That's no sodding dragon!"

I blinked myself awake at the startled exclamation. I was still sleepy from the massive meal I'd eaten the day before, and I'd been happily snoozing in the warm sunlight. The echoes continued to resound around Ostagar for a few moments. I raised my head from where it rested against my belly and looked out over the edge of the tower.

Three armoured figures glittered below.

With a hiss of anger, I stood upright and leapt from my nest. I swooped low, ready to flame them when a squeal of fright caught my attention.

A small dragon, not much larger than a cow, leapt in front of one of the humans and gave a warbling roar of fearful defiance.

I aborted my attack with difficulty, flew over the group and landed hard. What was a dragon doing with these humans? I turned to face them, noting that in the brief time it had taken me to attack, they'd split up. The one protected by the tiny dragon was still in the open, but the red-haired one had dived and rolled well to one side.

The other tall, dark human was behind a broken stone wall, offering him quite some cover from my breath. He whipped his bow around, held back only at the third human's shout. "Don't!"

"What? Why?" the bow-wielding one demanded, arrow nocked and ready.

Instead of answering, the one with the dragon held out a hand and trilled.

My snarl disappeared. I drew my head back in surprise. That sound was… oddly comforting.

"By the stone! That works on archdemons too?" the short, red-haired one exclaimed.

The gentle trilling paused as the nice human took a breath. He kept making the soothing noise, but kept his distance.

"What are you talking about? That's a dragon, not an archdemon!"

"I'm telling ya Nate, that's a sodding archdemon."

There was a pause. "Are you sure? I can't sense any taint."

"Yes I'm bloody sure!" the short one spat. "I smacked one between the eyes with my sodding hammer!"

I swung my head between the two arguing humans. Their voices were drowning out the nice sound. I stared at the short one. A word flittered across my conscious. Dwarf. Not human.

The trilling stopped. "Shut up, and let me work!" the nice one said, before resuming his song. I stood up straight, relaxing at the sound. I could stomp on these three humans if I needed to. There was no need for me to be ready to attack in an instant.

The trilling human took a tentative step forward. I tilted my head to one side, but made no other movement.

Emboldened, the human stepped forward, still making that nice noise.

I settled my body down on the stony ground, enjoying the song. I extended my neck, moving my head towards the human. His eyes widened, but he stood his ground.

I sniffed at him.

Memories flooded me. The human's scent brought back images of me, clutching at the human's hand, hugging him tightly. Sitting close together while reading in front of a fire.

I reared back, my eyes wide with shock.

"Jowan! Down!"

I retreated a few steps, mind a whirl.

"Wait!"

The memories evoked by the human's scent were disjointed and rambling. But the one feeling they all conjured was one of safety and security. This human had kept me safe.

My body flowed and ebbed. From down on my hands and knees, I looked up at the suddenly much larger human. "J-jow-wan?" I croaked.

His surprise was total. "Maker! Kathryn?" He leapt forward and grabbed me in a tight embrace. "Kathryn? It is you! You're alive!"

The sudden constriction made me panic. I struggled and hissed and screamed. He let me go abruptly. "Kat-"

I screamed a spell, blowing him backwards hard.

Voices screamed orders around me. I jerked my head from side to side, searching for the next threat. Suddenly, my power was sucked out of me. The abrupt lack of mana left me gasping.

"I've Cleansed her!" the red-haired one shouted. "Put her to sleep, nughumper!"

I screeched incoherently at the one who'd left me helpless. I turned and ran, instinctively knowing that without my magic I was at a distinct disadvantage. I got perhaps a dozen yards before my awareness faded.

* * *

><p>I remembered very little about the next few months. My captors managed to smuggle me all the way north to their fortress without attracting too much attention. I was kept in a magical torpor; awakened only after being drained of magical strength – and only long enough to wolf down some food.<p>

I recalled flashes; fleeting images. There were some fights, the loud clanging of metal on metal and the even louder shrieks of agony of those stupid enough to attack two warriors, a mage and a dragon.

It was night when we arrived at our destination. I was bundled upstairs and confined to a room with a judicious barrier spell across the window.

As far as I was concerned, the prison cell had simply been enlarged from a crate to a room.

I wailed and screeched in my confinement. The red-haired dwarf sat with me for hours, draining me of my magical might at regular intervals. Sometimes I would physically attack him, desperate to escape. I would leave great gashes on his face from my nails. He would suffer those wounds without complaint, letting me expend my rage upon his body.

He would still drain my mana though. And each evening a mage would appear in the doorway with food. Food laced with magebane, but food nonetheless. Once I had gorged myself while crouched in the corner, I would be put to sleep. The next morning, the cycle would begin again.

A strangely familiar dog was the only beast I would permit to remain with me unmolested. The hound had significant trouble walking about, but willingly let me curl up in the hollow between its legs and belly, protecting me from the outside world.

I only saw a few faces in that time. The mage who smelled of dragon. An elderly man who smelled of blood and death. The red-haired warrior with the pain tolerance of a rock. Another mage whose magic healed my self-inflicted wounds and kept me healthy. A dwarf woman with a painted face who bathed me and cut my hair after I'd been sedated.

All the while, I raged in my mind. At my imprisonment. At those who had hurt me.

And I promised bloody retribution upon them.

o_ooo000ooo_o

AN: Thanks to my reviewers, Robbie the Phoenix, MB18932, Pintsizedpsycho, Phygmalion, Jared, ByLanternLight, Nate88, unanimously anonymous. mostly, MrZipacna, fjun, jaffa3, Ledilettant, Bob Rijke, Bhoddisatva, GoldenDevil06, TheNStorm, sizuka2, , jnybot, Isabeau of Greenlea, SgtGinger, Incognegro74, Quirky, Mage, RakeeshJ4, Mike3207, CynderJenn, raw, Zanros, Arsinoe de Blassenville, MemoriesoftheForgottenGuardian, Vibrolux, Superstar Kid, Meatzman2, Piceron, Silviu, punkedoutrocker, Basani, amanda weber, Viktorius, Nightbrainzz, White Ivy (x4!), Anime-StarWars-fan-zach (x2!), lynn-writer and MarkerIV. Goodness me.

A short, but dark chapter. For those of you who haven't seen Dawn of the Seeker, Regayen (Gaylen) is a loyalist mage of the Orlesian Circle who assists Cassandra as she saves the day.

One night recently I took my wife out to dinner to a restaurant in Melbourne called Cumulus (which had fantastic food – the tuna tartare was to die for). But to my astonishment, one of the waitresses was the spitting image of Cassandra Pentaghast.

Same hair, down to the direction it flowed across her scalp. Same colouring, same nose, same shaped face. Had you told me that she was the model on which Cassandra had been based, I'd have believed you without question.

I opened up the Dragon Age wiki on my phone and showed Cassandra's picture to the waitstaff. It caused quite a bit of astonished laughter. The poor waitress was a bit embarrassed by it all, but she was so astonished at the likeness she put both her hands to her cheeks in surprise on seeing it. I told her that the character was a full-on dragon-slaying hero. She gave a fist pump at that.


	29. Awakening

disclaimer type=standard

Anything you recognize is Bioware's. I dare say anything else belongs to them too.

/disclaimer

o_ooo000ooo_o

Kathryn paused her narration, and began taking deep, slow breaths. "Excuse me," she said, pulling her hand out of Leliana's and rising from the upholstered seat. She turned her back on her audience and moved over to a tapestry that dominated one wall. She stared studiously at the representation of the Divine Maker elevating his chosen bride to his side, keeping her face firmly directed away from her audience.

Leliana looked at her friend's back with sympathy. "Take your time," she said in her melodic voice.

Kathryn did not respond directly. "Curious, is it not?" she said, tilting her head to one side as she regarded the godly figure.

"Is it?" Cassandra snapped. Despite the lack of affect her tone had on the Warden, she had the grace to look mildly abashed at the glare Leliana sent her.

"Yes. It is curious that He hasn't yet given up on us."

"He loves us," Leliana insisted. "We must strive to be worthy of that love."

Gaylen ducked his head, uncomfortable with the level of piety. He braved another small glass of the ceremonial wine, despite the hazy sense of unease he felt. He wondered vaguely if by drinking it he was committing heresy.

The elf sighed, and shook her head. "Cassandra asked me earlier if I was a true Andrastean. I told her that I witnessed a miracle." She turned to Leliana. "Well, you and I both did. But that wasn't the whole truth. My reasons are a lot more personal than that."

o_ooo000ooo_o

I felt a warmth flood me. I cracked my eyelids open over rough, sandy eyeballs. I looked around at the sea of familiar, but worried faces. A little more looking revealed that I was in bed, and that some of my friends looked as though they'd just arrived from a long journey. Nathaniel, Velanna, Pickering and Connor all looked travel-stained and dusty. Drake even had some twigs in his hair.

"Um, what are you doing here?" I asked, my voice a damaged, gravelly mess. "Where is here, for that matter?"

"You're all right!" Jowan blurted, surging forward to grab me in a tight hug. Several people around my bed cheered. From out of the corner of my eye, I saw Sigrun embrace Velanna.

"Oof," I wheezed. "Can't breathe!"

"Sorry," he immediately apologised, drawing back. He was immediately replaced by an enormous canine head worming its way close. Thunder snuffled and whined and gave me tiny licks as I lifted my arm around his neck.

"Hey boy, I missed you. Are you all right?" I asked, running a hand down his spine. My questing fingers found a knot of scar tissue. I noted that even in his excitement, he wasn't wagging his tail.

He whuffed and wriggled a lot, too excited to give me a straight out bark.

"Quiet!" A voice called over the din. Silence descended. "Thank you," Daylen continued. "Now, could you all please leave so I can examine my patient?"

I looked at him oddly. Patient? Since when had I been his patient?

Nate nodded. "Daylen is right, everybody out." He placed a hand on my shoulder. "I'll be in once he's done to talk. A lot has happened."

I nodded and watched as everyone filed out the door while giving me a wave or a word of encouragement. Avernus hung back.

"Commander, would you be so kind as to visit me in my workshop when you feel capable? There is an issue I need to discuss with you in private. It is potentially important, but not urgent."

"Of course," I agreed.

He left. Daylen gave a shudder. "Creepy old goat. Right, are you able to sit up? Do you feel dizzy?"

I rose from the bed without difficulty, though I did feel a bit stiff and weak. I raised my arms and stretched. It felt good to move about.

Daylen cast a couple of spells. He frowned at the results. "Can you open your mouth? Your vocal chords appear to be damaged."

I complied, and I saw the surprise as it flooded his face. "I say! Your throat is deeply scarred. What on Thedas happened?"

I closed my mouth. "Do you know about my other form?" I asked cautiously.

He nodded. "Your draconian form? Yes. Well, I know of it. I'm told it's quite impressive. Oghren insisted that you were half again as large as a High Dragon."

I nodded. "Well, dragon fire happened."

He blinked. "What?"

With a sigh, I explained. "Dragons are inherently magical. I discovered that while breathing fire; it draws on your mana. I was all but exhausted when I first tried it, and I breathed fire without the magical strength to support it. I turned back into an elf with fire still coming out."

He winced. "Ouch. Well, I'm sorry to say that there's not much I can do. Even if we were to recreate the injury I'm not sure I could heal it correctly."

"I'll pass then. I was never a singer anyway."

He gave me a small smile. "Yes, I seem to recall avoiding you in the Circle because your voice set my teeth on edge."

"Really? I thought it was because you hated Jowan."

His face darkened. "That too. He's done things that, well, he should tell you. Now, about your physical health; I'd say don't overdo it, but I daresay you'd just ignore me. How do you feel?"

"I feel pretty good; really hungry, but good."

He nodded. "I'll have some food sent up." At my expression, he hurriedly clarified. "Not broth, some proper stew!"

I nodded and started doing some of the stretches and exercises Zevran taught me. Daylen appeared to want to object, but closed his mouth and simply observed. He did start to look a bit red-faced though.

I glanced down. "Oh. Let me change out of my nightshirt."

"Please," he squeaked. He coughed and swallowed. "Please," he repeated in his more usual tenor.

I moved behind the screen and selected a robe from the wardrobe sitting against one wall. I shrugged into it, noting that I appeared to have lost some weight. I didn't really have a lot of that to begin with. My ribs were prominent under the skin on my chest.

"That's better," I said, feeling the enchantments of the material enhance my magic. It was like a warm blanket under my clothes.

"Excellent. I can't find anything physically wrong with you, and you appear to have full mental faculties. I hadn't planned on testing your magic today, but you appear to be quite healed." He stuck his head out the door and made a quick request. Someone outside handed him a familiar staff. He closed the door and proffered the weapon. "Your staff, I believe."

I swallowed. I was tentative as I reached out to touch Spellfury's wood, and the sensation at that first contact was electric.

It was like coming home. Comforting power surged through me, like a missing piece returned.

Daylen was oblivious. He had stepped over to the window and missed my silent gasp. He touched the glowing magical barrier across the window as I regained my center. After a second, the glowing wall faded from existence. Instantly, the sounds and brisk air from outside filtered into the room. "Can you see down there in the courtyard below? We've set up some targets for Warden mages to use for their spells."

I stuck my head out the window. We were obviously in Avernus' Tower, but in one of the lower levels. The window faced away from the rest of the complex, giving me an uninterrupted view of the wilderness. Beneath us there was a massive, hard-stone paved courtyard. Scattered around it were massive, rounded cones of solid granite that had been recently painted. That paint, while still vivid in places, had been discoloured by soot, scorched by flame and lightning, and chipped away. At regular intervals around the area, stone bunkers and platforms had been dug and erected.

"What a great idea," I said with a grin. "An outdoor magical target range."

Daylen nodded. In a proud voice, he said, "Dagna designed it, and convinced Glavonak to build it. There are two smaller ones on the other side of the Keep that any mage can use, but this one is fenced off from prying, non-Warden eyes. Now, if you would, please cast a few spells down into the yard. Start small, and stop of you feel your mana weaken."

I raised my staff in one hand and flicked the fingers on the other in preparation. With as much delicacy as possible, I set glittering butterflies dancing around the courtyard. I then lit the area with bright, magical lights, creating shadows even in the bright sunshine. I ran through my repertoire of cantrips before moving onto glyphs, then hexes, then curses and finally raw, elemental power.

The courtyard below was wide enough that you could drop a fireball on one side and a blizzard on the other without them touching. I gleefully bombarded the entire paved area with flame, ice and storms. Some witnesses wearing Grey Warden colours gathered to watch the display. First they stood on the viewing platforms, but they migrated quickly to the protected bunkers.

Releasing my magic was glorious. The noise, the heat, the shockwaves, the cold; it all sang to my heart. I finished off with the three-spell combination that drew hard on my mana but crammed the courtyard area with a cone of pure devastation. As draining as it was, it felt good to cast again.

I finished by blowing on my fingers as I'd seen Anders do. I gave Daylen a grin and said, "That was fun."

He stood there open-mouthed for a while. "I don't... I've never... I mean, that was... wow."

I shrugged modestly.

He shook his head and gathered his wits. He coughed once and said, "Well, everything seems to be in order. I take it there was no measurable loss of power? Not having seen you in action, I have no way of comparing. I've never seen anything like it. That was incredible."

"Thank you. And no, nothing seems to be missing or damaged. I feel a bit weak, but with a bit of practice I'm sure I'll be back to full power in no time."

His mouth worked silently for a couple of heartbeats. "That wasn't your full..." He blinked, shook his head and coughed yet again. "Never mind. I'll get the others."

"All of them?" I said, wondering how comfortable it would be in the relatively small room with so many people. It was bad enough for the few minutes when I woke up.

"Er, a few at a time then. Yes, that's probably prudent," he conceded. He opened the door and stuck his head out. After a moment's consultation, Nate, Jowan and Oghren came in and firmly closed the door behind them.

Nate had taken the opportunity to clean himself up; he'd combed his hair and his hands, forearms, face and neck had been scrubbed with soap and hot water. His leathers were still dusty, but he was much more presentable.

Oghren and Jowan did not look as though they'd been travelling, so they'd not done much except have a celebratory drink.

Nate began briefing me on all the events that had happened since my abduction.

* * *

><p>Connor and Pickering had struggled to carry Thunder and hide from the templars tracking them. The first group that reached them were dispatched only due to their complete surprise at Connor's presence and abilities. Still, the lad had been hit with a Holy Smite before Pickering gutted the last templar, leaving my bodyguard with two bodies to carry. The noise of the fight attracted more templar attention.<p>

Rescue had come from an exceedingly unexpected source; the ex-kitchenhand Benjamin.

The elf had arrived back at the Vigil a couple of days before. He, Seranni, Falon'fen and Hape hauled their massive load of harvested dragonbone, including the skull that would be divided up and shaped into Hape's bed. Ben had been spotted and recognised by the Crows, who called him out as one of them. Rather than examine the situation calmly, Garevel had immediately demanded that Ben be taken dead or alive.

I'd shaken my head at that. The post of Guard Captain was definitely over Garevel's head.

It turned out that Ben was the messenger Ignacio had sent to warn me of Tavish's contract. He had arrived in the middle of a hectic period, and found menial work in the kitchens while he waited for me to return from my travels around Amaranthine. He had been given no chance to speak with me alone before the traitorous Bann and her cohorts had attacked.

After that he felt that outing himself as a Crow was not a particularly bright idea.

He stayed a while longer, digging for any evidence that there were other parties involved who would attack me again. Having found that there were no further assassination attempts likely, he decided to leave to report back to Ignacio when the darkspawn attacked the Vigil. Fate intervened, and I ended up with a Crow-trained Warden without knowing about it.

No wonder he was so proficient with his daggers.

The Wardens were a nicer home than the Crows. But with his past suddenly revealed in a way that made those in power suspicious, Ben had concluded that running back to the Crows would only delay the inevitable, and that I was his best bet for sorting out the mess. He headed west, with a couple of Wardens and Garevel's men hot on his trail.

As Seranni was one of his trackers, he didn't dick about hiding his spore; he moved as swiftly as possible, sacrificing food and rest for distance. Traveling late into the night to try and put more miles between him and his pursuers, he came across a bunch of templars attacking a lone traveler with a familiar dog. The templars were unaccustomed to fighting in darkness, finding themselves at a disadvantage against an elf assassin with excellent night vision.

Pickering had been wounded in that skirmish, and it took the remainder of my healing potions to get him and Connor on their feet. The pair carried Thunder and assisted Connor towards Soldier's Peak, aided by Seranni after she caught up to them. There was a brief, tense moment before she was convinced that Ben meant no harm.

News of my abduction threatened to split my Wardens apart. One faction, headed by Oghren, favoured a martial response; namely, putting all templars in the country to the sword. Another faction, led by Jowan and Velanna, wanted to lay waste to every templar by magic. A smaller group wanted to use their newly trained skills to assassinate each one.

Nate however, kept his head and figuratively sent them to their rooms without supper to calm down. He sent Seranni and Ben to track the templars who took me as best as they could before he and Pickering raced off to Denerim. He knew that information was the most important thing, and that the Crown needed to know of the templar involvement in my kidnapping. But, events had progressed. By the time Nate reached Denerim, Ferelden was already preparing for war.

Messengers had raced across the country with news that Chevaliers were massing on the other side of the Frostbacks. The army was once more being mustered. Ferelden was once more moving to a war footing, only this time the underlying strength was gone. The country still hadn't recovered from the Blight, and a year or so of relative peace was hardly enough to rebuild. The treasury was very lean.

While Alistair and Anora were fully willing to believe the templars had abducted me, there was little they could do about it. The new Grand Cleric of Ferelden, though formally appointed by Divine decree, had not yet arrived to take up her position. Thus, she could not be questioned. The remaining Revered Mothers and other priests in the Cathedral were all in a state of limbo, merely going through the bureaucratic motions and waiting for the new leadership team to arrive and no doubt screw things up royally.

Realising that there was little he could accomplish in Denerim while the Crown's attention was firmly on the western border, he made a suggestion to Eamon, which was positively received. Nate returned to Soldier's Peak with every enlisted mage, both apostate and Circle-raised, within a few days march of Denerim. The assembled motley crew were given a crash course in practical battle magic and working as part of a group.

The next few weeks were frenetic, to say the least. My disappearance caused morale to drop, and it was only Nate's rank in the Wardens plus his bloodline that held the various factions in the arling together. Ben and Seranni returned with news that my trail headed south, but were unable to follow after it joined the main highway.

Orlesian demands for Ferelden's surrender and submission to the authority of the Empress came regularly, coupled with Divine orders that the Circle's reformations be abandoned. At first, the demands were not backed by military actions, which baffled Alistair and his generals.

Eventually, the safe sailing season started, and troop ships landed along on Ferelden's northern shores. Both Highever and Amaranthine were targeted.

Having been promoted to Commander of Highever's forces, Francois was in town to coordinate his troops when the enemy ships arrived. He led the brief defence, which in essence began and ended with Mac and a pair of his friends, fresh from their tutoring at Soldier's Peak, setting fire to the ships before they reached the docks. Few Orlesian troops survived, though several local merchant vessels were damaged by fire too. Fergus happily paid for the repairs, and began negotiations with the Circle to fund and establish a smaller, satellite Circle in Highever specifically for defense.

Amaranthine fared even better. Velanna had been in town at the time, seemingly set on establishing annuities for the grandchildren of every local baker. She had been purchasing entire stores of sweet cakes and sugary treats when the harbourmaster spotted the hostile ships and raised the alarm. Having her sugar addiction interrupted by aggressive troop ships put her in one of her moods, and she proved to be almost as good with water magic as she was with nature. After turning three ships into driftwood and almost two hundred troops into fishfood, she went back into the city to satisfy her sugar craving.

Her blasé attitude meant that was unlikely any Amaranthine local would be raising a hand to a Dalish woman any time soon.

But despite their failure at the port cities, Orlesian troops did make landfall along the coast lands. There were a few skirmishes, and it was a massive drain on resources that were desperately needed elsewhere. But the situation would have been so much worse if not for the recent training given my Wardens by the Crows. Orlesian officers perished at night, surrounded by entire companies of soldiers.

To Nate's profound discomfort, Connor proved the most successful at these nightly camp infiltrations. He'd been ordered to remain safely at the Peak, but the lad refused point blank, pointing out that Nate had no authority over him. He would go with a team, assume his mouse form, scurry through the camp, poison the commanding officers, and scuttle out again. As a bonus, he destroyed written orders whenever he could, making it all but impossible for any junior officer or sergeant to take control.

Far from being a devastating force, once deprived of leadership the companies soon lost military discipline and disbanded. The ex-soldiers turned to banditry, downgrading from a debilitating problem to a blasted menace. Mercantile traffic was forced to latch onto army units as they marched through the country, slowing trade. For the first time in a generation, farms were being stripped of food and the owners killed by Orlesians. But with the expanded Warden roster and training regimen, quite a few of the new bandits ended up dangling from ropes all over the arling.

As the months drew on, tension remained high. There were a few tentative incursions on the western border, but no real advances by the Orlesians. The stalemate slowly bled Ferelden of strength, but nothing happened on the main front.

Reported sightings of a massive dragon in the Wilds filtered north. It was discounted at first, Ceorlic not being the considered the most patriotic of nobles. But as time went on with no advances by the Orlesians, Nate took his resident archdemon-slayer, his dragon-expert and said expert's pet dragon, and headed south.

They followed the exaggerated sightings and stories as best they could. But the real clue to finding me was the trail of dismembered and decomposing corpses and scattered bits of armour. Ostagar itself was filled with burned armoured figures. They had no chance to really examine it before a monster half as large again as a High Dragon spotted them and swooped.

Swooping was bad.

Oghren recognised my form, having the sort of intimate knowledge of archdemons that comes from being inside their mouth. Where Oghren and Nate both had the presence of mind to get out of the way of my initial swoop, Jowan was shocked into immobility. It was only his pet dragon – named Lily – that prevented him from becoming ash.

With a mind blank with fear, he reacted on reflex, and began trilling a lullaby tune that Daylen had discovered would soothe the dragonlings in the Keep. Against all reasonable expectations, it worked.

Once I was back in elf form and forcibly rendered comatose, they fossicked through the rest of the remains looking for the reason there were so many dead templars littering the place. The command tent had been destroyed, but a few chests survived the fire.

One warded container held my phylactery. Despite the heavy guilt he felt, Jowan used it and its power to keep me under control on the long trip back. With my sanity in question, it would only take one mistake and I could have escaped them at best, slaughtered them at worst.

As distasteful as it was, I fully understood. I certainly didn't blame him. Of all the possible uses for my blood, nefarious and constructive both, preventing me from harming my friends was one I was happily on board with.

The nightmare trip to Soldier's Peak ended, but that simply began a new nightmare. Keeping a powerful mage like me sedated and drained was difficult. Jowan, Daylen and Oghren spent months keeping me fed, healthy and safe, but the strain on my Wardens was great. They were certain that without Thunder's calming influence, I would have broken free eventually. Nothing they tried could heal my mind.

Connor repeatedly made a suggestion which was initially discounted. But as time wore on, desperation rose. Eventually hope overtook pragmatism. Nate gathered Pickering, Connor, Velanna and Drake, and set off.

* * *

><p>Daylen rose to his feet. "I'll get the others," he said, his expression still clearly showing his disapproval of Jowan's actions with my phylactery.<p>

I sat back and digested what I'd been told as the rest of the members of that expedition were brought into the room to continue their tale.

* * *

><p>The trip to Haven was relatively simple, though that close to the border things were quite tense. The Chantry had set up shop inside the temple where Genitivi had gone into paroxysms of delight. Leliana had ably established them with the local townsfolk, but had been summoned to Val Royeaux before the military action started. The remaining priests exhibited no humility whatsoever, and point blank refused to let any pilgrims past them to the Gauntlet. It was too dangerous, apparently.<p>

Of course, with a shape-shifting mouse in the party, getting the key was not a problem. And the group found sneaking past a bunch of templars in the temple as easy as I'd found sneaking past them in the tower growing up.

The Guardian expressed no surprise on seeing the party, and true to form, asked them pointed questions. They followed the same theme as those asked of my companions, that of regret.

It occurred to me that during my visit, the Guardian had not spoken to Thunder. At the time, I just assumed that it was because he was a dog, but on reflection, he had questioned Shale. And while Shayle of House Cadash was certainly a dwarf, Shale was literally ambulatory rock. So perhaps Thunder was not questioned because alone of all of us, he had no regrets?

In any event, after answering some pointed questions, Nate and his companions were permitted access to the Gauntlet, where they encountered the shade of Rendon Howe. Unsurprisingly, the weasel-faced bastard tried to poison Nate against me, but my Second had no hesitation in telling his father's ghost to begone. With his sister ennobled as the Bann of Amaranthine City and himself as, for all intents and purposes, the heir to the arling, the Howes were far more highly placed that anyone could have expected, given their sire's traitorous dealings.

The rest of the maze posed no difficulty. Armed with the knowledge of what I had faced, the group were prepared for the Gauntlet's trials. Everything that is, except the final cleansing.

As the only female in the group, Velanna was singularly distraught at the thought of stripping in front of her companions, especially as one of them was an adolescent boy and another a leering dwarf. Every male in the group swore they did not peek at her, but Connor's blush told me that he probably gave into temptation. That or that he was very taken by the mental image of the well proportioned elf naked.

They collected the requisite pinch of Ashes, and made their way back. There was a brief altercation with the templars and priests, who were mightily offended. Whether the offense was taken at the success of the endeavour or the flouting of their orders was not made clear.

The priests demanded that the collected Ashes be turned over for examination and testing. Nate refused, and given the ill will he felt towards the Chantry as a whole, did nothing to defuse the situation. Demands turned to threats; threats turned to actions; and actions turned to violence. The final result of which was a bunch of cowering old hags surrounded by the corpses of their bodyguards.

My Wardens wiped their weapons clean on the templar bodies and left. The priests left soon after; they'd not made many friends in Haven and chose not to test the graciousness of the residents.

The return leg of the adventure had been uneventful, and on arrival everyone wanted to bear witness to the miracle. I'd been stunned, placed into bed and sprinkled with the Ashes.

* * *

><p>I blinked away tears, suddenly feeling very humbled.<p>

o_ooo000ooo_o

Cassandra touched a hand to her heart, feeling the organ beating a staccato in her breast. "You- you were healed with the Ashes?"

Leliana clapped her hands in delight. "Oh, how wonderful! The Maker's blessing is truly upon you, Kathryn." She sobered quickly. "Though I'm quite put out with Mother Monique. She should never have tried restricting access to the Gauntlet."

The elf nodded slowly, and resumed her tale.

o_ooo000ooo_o

Early the next morning, I sat on the stone bridge leading to Avernus' tower, with Spellfury on my lap and my feet dangling over the edge. Thunder lay next to me under my arm, lending me his warmth in the brisk, pre-dawn air.

I watched as the sky slowly morphed from inky black to deep indigo.

As awful as losing one's mind was, dealing with a reality in a world gone to pot was almost worse.

"Thought I might find you up here," a gravelly voice said from behind me.

"Morning Oghren," I replied, in my now even gravellier voice.

He sat down next to me and we silently watched the sun rise.

"Bloody amazing sight," he said as we finally had to squint. "There's nothing like it in the Deep Roads."

I hummed an agreement. "I'll never get used to it. How come you're up so early?"

"Ah, the nuglet's got his mother's voice and my thirst. Felsi is looking after him, but it's hard to sleep when all that stuff is going on."

I blinked. "Felsi had the baby? What am I saying? Of course she did. Congratulations."

"Cheers. Never thought I'd every say it, but being a da isn't so bad. The nuglet chews on my beard plaits a bit, and Fels won't let me drink so much anymore, but... I don't know, it's... nice. Dagna gave him a couple of stuffed socks she sewed into the shape of a hammer. He smacks everything with it; he's really a shard off the old rock."

I couldn't help but smile at the thought of a mini-Oghren, just months old and already trying to hammer everything into submission. "What's his name?"

"Chrysoprase. Chrys for short."

I gave him a wistful smile. "That's wonderful, Oghren."

He reached out and took one of my hands, and we sat in silence for a long time. "You gonna be all right?" he asked.

"Eventually."

"We might not have that much time, Kat."

"I know."

He nodded. "I know you said that you didn't want to tell anyone what happened with them bastards, but I'm here if you need to let it out."

I winced at the recent memory of letting my anger out on him. "Did I... did I hurt you? I think I remember scratching you up pretty badly."

He shrugged. "Meh, wasn't anything I couldn't handle. I had to get Sigrun to cut your fingernails a few times, of course. But it had to be done to stop you hurting yourself."

I swallowed. "I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it. Daylen fixed me up right as you please."

I chuckled softly. "You call Alistair the Pike Twirler, even though he's the king. You don't have a nickname for Daylen?"

"Nope. Any human who can score himself a dwarf lassie and keep her happy deserves respect."

I found myself outright laughing at his quip. "Fair enough."

Oghren gave my hand a squeeze. "When you're ready to talk about it, I'm here."

I swallowed. I'd refused point blank to tell Nate and the others what had happened after the templars took me. I was too ashamed to relate how I'd lost control in the dark; too disgusted to relate how I'd survived by feasting on darkspawn flesh. But Oghren... only Thunder had been at my side longer. Oghren may be the one person who would understand. That wouldn't judge me. "They tried to..." I started, but stopped at the lump in my throat.

He squeezed my hand again, but stayed silent.

I took a deep breath. "They put shackles on me; shackles that stopped me doing magic. They took us to Ostagar; Keenan and me."

He mumbled something that sounded like 'turncoat'.

I gave his hand a squeeze. "It wasn't like that, whatever Pick told you. They used him; used his addiction to lyrium to control him. They took us down underground, into the Deep Roads."

Oghren blinked. "What? Why'd they do that? We all thought they'd just slit your throat and bury you in the forest once they were out of sight."

I looked down at my hands, noting that they were trembling. "They knew what they were doing. They made Keenan find some darkspawn. They knew what the darkspawn would do to me. And left us to be taken by them."

"They knew... SODDING BASTARDS!"

I jumped at the sudden volume. The curse echoed off the nearby walls and cliffs.

"Sorry," he apologised, patting my hand.

I nodded and breathed, trying to calm my heart.

"I can't believe... Nate should have let me... What is wrong with those people? I wouldn't wish that on anyone."

Through a tight jaw, I ground out, "People can do all sorts of evil things when they're convinced they're acting for the greater good."

He looked at me as though I was talking another language. "How could anyone think making the darkspawn stronger would be good?"

I shook my head. "No, they weren't thinking about that. Remember that woman you called a prune in Amaranthine? The templars told me that she and the old Grand Cleric were convinced to give up their positions – for the greater good of the Chantry. Deciding my fate was their price."

Oghren blinked owlishly at me. "And these are the people you lot listen to when they talk about morality?"

I shrugged. "I guess."

He watched my reaction. "So what happened? How did you get away?"

I was silent for a while. "The darkspawn carried me deep into the earth; much deeper than I'd ever been before. They carried me for hours. In a cavern they... did things to me. All I could think about Hespith's poem. When an ogre tried to... Well, I bit my cheek and spat blood in his mouth. It hurt him so much he lashed out, but he broke the shackles instead of me."

Oghren stayed silent.

"In a few seconds I recovered just enough magic to cast one spell. I turned into an archdemon and killed them all. I struck out for the surface, but I lost my way – and my mind – in the dark. I ate anything, and for a while forgot that I was trying to get out. I only found an exit by accident."

Oghren shook his head in wonder. "By the stones of my ancestors, your piss would cut diamond, Kat. I'd have bet my beard that no one else alive would be tough enough to make it out of there without weapons or food."

My hands still trembled. "I felt so weak," I whispered.

"Ha! Your version of weak is tougher than anyone else's best, Kat. Remember, that which doesn't kill me..." he trailed off, as though expecting me to finish his sentence for him.

I frowned. "What?"

He looked out over the Waking Sea. "Oh, you haven't heard that one? Well, we dwarves have a saying. That which doesn't kill you makes you stronger."

For some reason, that phrase made me furious. I reached out and grabbed a pair of his beard plaits and pulled his head around to face me. "That which does not kill _me_," I emphasized in a deep growl, jabbing my chest with a thumb, "has made a sodding colossal mistake!"

He looked delighted. "There's the Kat I remember!"

I blinked, and let go. "I... sorry."

"Don't be. We're gonna need her soon." He rose to his feet.

I lowered my eyes. "Thanks for listening to me."

"Any time." He patted me on the shoulder. "The scrapper I know is still in there somewhere. When you're ready to let her out again, let me know. I'll be right next to you when you take the fight back to them bastards." He wandered off, leaving me to my thoughts.

I stared out over the ocean as his footsteps faded, the morning sun warming my skin. Thunder looked up hopefully at me, and I scratched his ears.

"Oghren's right," I told him. "I can't just feel sorry for myself. Come on. Let's go see if Avernus is up."

* * *

><p>The ancient maleficar was indeed up; I wasn't sure if he ever actually went to sleep.<p>

"Ah, Commander. Thank you for coming to see me. Honestly, I wasn't expecting to see you for some days."

"I couldn't sleep," I replied.

He nodded, and gestured towards a new chair in his workshop. "Please, sit. What I have to say may be rather startling."

I dropped myself into the chair. "Now you have me curious. You said it was potentially important, but not urgent."

"Indeed," he said, sitting down into his own chair. "The issue may have quite far reaching consequences, but it is easily correctable."

I raised an eyebrow. "What issue?"

He held up a hand. "Forgive me, but may I ask you a few questions first? The scholar in me is aghast at letting the opportunity for knowledge to escape. And if you are aware of my reason, it may influence your answers."

"Okay," I replied slowly.

"How do you feel? Not in terms of your overall health, but your strength."

I considered that. "I feel quite weak, but that would be because I've been bedridden for months."

Avernus shook his head. "You spent no more in your bed than normal, as I understand it. Your constant physical altercations with Warden Oghren gave you sufficient exercise to maintain your strength. Yet you feel weak. That is interesting."

"Why?"

"A moment. How is your appetite?"

I blinked. "My appetite? I was hungry when I gave up trying to sleep this morning, but I had some breakfast."

"The portion size?"

I cupped my hands together to mime a small bowl. "About yay much, I'd say. It's not as much as I normally eat."

He nodded. "I see. How about your endurance?"

"Climbing the stairs up here was a bit more difficult that I remember. Why the questions?"

He sighed. "I sometimes forget that you are so young to the Wardens. You probably have not yet reached the stage where you can sense the presence of the taint in other Wardens."

I frowned. "No, no I haven't."

"Then it is perhaps understandable that you have not noticed anything untoward. As I said, the issue I need to discuss is potentially problematic. The Ashes that repaired your mind – a most remarkable event to witness, might I add – appear to have cured you of _everything_."

"Not my scars," I replied.

He ignored my response and looked at me intently. "Have you not divined the reason for my line of inquiry?"

It clicked the instant he asked the question. "I'm weaker, not as fit, nor as hungry as I used to be. I'm not a Grey Warden any more, am I?"

He frowned. "Of course you are! Do you not recall the ritual words spoken at a Joining? You do not become a Grey Warden from imbibing the Joining potion, you become a Grey Warden the moment you accept the Joining Chalice. The potion merely gives you the power necessary to fight the darkspawn." He leaned forward and emphasised, "_You are a Grey Warden_; that will never change." He paused. "What you have been cured of, is the taint. I can no longer sense it in you."

"Oh," I said, for want of something intelligent to say.

Avernus leaned back and steepled his fingers in front of his face. "The precedent set by our friend Warden Fiona ensures that you retain your rank and privileges. The potential issues I mentioned stem from any future encounters you have with darkspawn. And, I suppose, the vanishingly small chance of you facing another archdemon. We should take care."

"I see. I'm no longer immune to the taint."

Avernus frowned. "I had thought you capable of a level of critical thinking enough that you would not make such an unwarranted assumption," he reproved. "As it stands, it is likely you would no longer be able to end a Blight by striking the killing blow to an archdemon, but there is no reason to unilaterally believe you are once again vulnerable to Blight-sickness."

I blinked. "It is Grey Warden lore that our immunity comes from accepting the taint," I pointed out.

He waved a hand. "That is a supposition at best, given our hitherto inability to test it. A few hardy souls are more resistant to the taint, despite not being Grey Wardens. The Legion of the Dead, for instance, has far fewer incidences of corruption than they should, statistically speaking. To date, there are only two known instances of the taint being cured. Both cures were from distinctly different sources."

I rubbed my chin. "That suggests that there may be any number of ways to cure the taint. It could potentially remove the need for the Calling."

Avernus gave me a creepy smile. "Precisely!"

"I suppose that I could just take the Joining potion again," I mused.

"That would be a monumental waste," Avernus snapped.

I blinked at his vehemence. "What?"

He leaned forward. "We have been given a tremendous opportunity to expand upon our knowledge of the taint. Fiona and those imbeciles in Weisshaupt have wasted their opportunity; I do not intend to do the same."

I leaned back in the chair and stared at him for a while. "We have a sample of my blood from before I was a Warden," I said carefully. "It could be compared with a sample taken now."

Avernus nodded, a creepy, thin-lipped smile on his face. "Yes, yes, exactly! Oh, the tests I could do! We could discover a better Joining potion, or a method of bestowing a temporary resistance to the taint. Soldiers all over Thedas could owe their continued existence to you. But that is not the least of the potential benefits. We could discover a way of extracting more power from the taint!"

"I take it you have ideas around testing my immunity too?"

"Yes, of course. We have a great deal of darkspawn blood in our stores. We could expose you to precisely measured amounts in controlled circumstances. If you have retained your immunity, imagine what that could mean!"

I couldn't help a smile. An amoral researcher, yes, but Avernus did not lack ambition. "Methods of both creating and curing Grey Wardens and a way to infer resistance to the Taint; this could be world-changing."

Avernus actually grinned. "Indeed, Commander. Indeed. Imagine fighting the darkspawn with an entire army immune to their most powerful weapon. We could eradicate the menace for good!"

* * *

><p>Over the next few weeks, I slowly built up my stamina, both physical and magical. It was obvious that being cured of the taint left me without the physical power I derived from it. Nate left with several of my Wardens, Sigrun, Velanna and Hape. He wanted to leave me with close friends nearby, but there were many other duties the Wardens were needed for. Oghren was nominally in charge of the Peak, given that Dagna was still so new to the Wardens. But she basically ran the place, including conducting lessons for some of the under-educated apostates.<p>

Though there were many non-Wardens at the Peak – apostates and Circle mages, assassins, merchants and the like – I managed to keep my identity a secret. I kept my scalp bald and wore a veil across my face, leaving only my eyes visible. The effect lent me a foreign flavour, and there were a small but significant number of apostates at the Peak who had been born abroad. A simple, unadorned Grey Warden robe finished the look of a foreign-born, junior Grey Warden mage.

Avernus was an odd mixture of disappointed and pleased that, while I was fully committed to his goal of wringing every scrap of knowledge from my situation, I was only prepared to let Jowan physically handle my blood. No doubt he wanted full access to a potentially groundbreaking line of research, but the fact that I was wary with whom I trusted with my blood made him nod with satisfaction at my caution. I was happy for the old maleficar to oversee the research, but Jowan had been my friend for my entire life. I trusted him and him alone enough to explore the changes the Joining had made to my physiology.

I spent some time with our pet dragons. Of the six live dragonlings we'd rescued from the Architect's lair, two were female. Jowan had bonded with one in much the same way that a mabari imprinted on someone, and he'd named her in honour of his love from the Circle. The other female had chosen Daylen, and had been named for a favoured aunt who'd proved brave enough to elope with an apostate. Daylen appreciated the romantic aspect of the story.

Lily and Leandra, though nest-mates, seemingly picked up on the rivalry between the two mages, and could not be left alone in the same space without snarling and snapping at each other.

Much like Jowan and Daylen, come to think of it.

Still, the dragons were growing well and fast; it wouldn't be long before we could start to train them for battle. Of course, that would be a very, very careful process.

Connor was proving to be a more than competent student. Despite the shortcut taken for him to learn his mouse shape, he had progressed well on the way to learning another animal form on his own.

His mental health however, was a different story. With the exception of the day I'd been cured, he had not smiled in months. He would only talk openly with Pickering. And his dreams were once more invaded by insistent demons.

That at least could be taken care of.

Safely ensconced in Avernus' tower, we repeated the adventure into the Fade. This time however, I brought half the Wardens stationed at the Peak. Including Avernus. As powerful as I was, two hundred years of experience defying demons was not something I was going to willingly deprive the group of.

The demons we encountered were initially delighted at the bounty of souls brought to their realm. Attracted to the increasing local population of mages and the mass of new magic, there were hundreds of the buggers. We made sure that any initial delight was correspondingly brief.

It felt good to once more direct Wardens in battle. In an environment where there was no possibility of collateral damage and every target was an enemy, it proved an excellent training exercise for the less experienced Wardens. A few of the younger mages used destructive magic for the first time outside of a classroom.

Pickering ably coached the warriors, a number of whom were a little wild-eyed at being in the Fade. His previous experience stood him in good stead, and he managed to personally take down a number of moderately powerful demons.

The arrival of two Pride demons capped off the afternoon, and they were soon capped off themselves. With so many mages on hand, it was simple to keep the gigantic demons almost constantly petrified.

We didn't emerge totally unscathed, but injuries short of death did not transfer across to the mortal realm. Broken bones and even deep gashes were only a worry while in the Fade. Once we were pulled out, it only took a few stretches to be back to full mobility.

After the cross-dimensional jaunt, Connor's dreams were once again clear of demons. The lad's disposition cleared after a good long sleep. In fact, the entire population of non-Warden mages noted the sudden dearth of nightly whispered temptations. A few days of uninterrupted rest did wonders. I saw mages twice my age suddenly prank each other like teenagers.

It warmed my heart.

We did not keep our activities secret, and on discovering the reason for the unexpected peace, several apostates volunteered to be a part of the next Fade-foray. Most had never been in the Fade beyond their dreams – the traditional method took far too much in the way of lyrium.

Dagna immediately started work on a rota for a weekly repeat trip for training purposes. After missing out the first time, it was perhaps not surprising that her name featured prominently at the top of every upcoming group. She had enthusiastically monitored our health the first time, but she'd sooner burn her own burgeoning library than give up the chance to visit the Fade.

All in all, life at the Peak was delightfully normal for a fortress in a country at war. But the normality did not last. A few weeks after my cure events drew me back to the world.

* * *

><p>I was reviewing Jowan's latest experimental results when a recent recruit interrupted us. "Excuse me, Commander?"<p>

I looked up. "Yes?"

"There are reports of an entourage bearing the tabards of Gwaren and Redcliffe approaching the Peak. There are perhaps fifty soldiers and several carriages."

Jowan and I shared a look. "I see," I said. "Could you locate my Senior Wardens and ask them to gather in the War Room. Then escort our guests there. Have some refreshments made available. Have Worthington ready the west barracks to billet the soldiers."

"At once, Commander."

I rubbed my chin as he left. "Gwaren and Redcliffe. Interesting combination."

Jowan scratched the back of his neck nervously. "Um, I don't think I should..."

I raised an eyebrow. "You don't want to see Eamon? Or chat about old times?"

He gave me an eloquent look. "Not particularly, no. It would probably be distracting if I was in a meeting with the man I was hired to poison."

I shrugged. As entertaining as it promised to be to see Jowan and Eamon face off, I wasn't going to force the issue. "You and your amusing foibles; I work with people who were hired to kill me all the time. But fine, be that way. We can take this up again tomorrow. Can you grab Avernus and send him down? Oh, Connor will want to see his father; grab him too, if you can. Pickering will probably be with him."

He nodded, rolled up his research and headed on up the stairs to Avernus' personal chambers.

I left the Warden's tower and crossed the bridge. From my vantage point I could see the first soldiers of the entourage emerge from the tunnels. There were quite a few of them. Not enough to be a full military unit, but more than would be expected to escort a noble around; even in a country on a war footing.

On the exposed bridge, the wind was biting. I wrapped my cloak tighter around my shoulders and made my way into the main body of the Peak.

A servant was stoking a fire from a cold hearth in the War Room when I arrived. He glanced up at my arrival, but decided that I was not ranked highly enough for him to rise and bow. Dressed in unadorned Warden robes and without my distinctive hair, barely anyone recognised me.

That suited me.

Daylen and Dagna arrived next, hand in hand. Oghren and Drake stomped in behind, drenched in perspiration and still sporting some puffy lips and bruises. They'd obviously been sparring. Daylen rolled his eyes at their appearance, but washed their wounds away with a wave of his hands.

The fire-stoker completed his task and left with a bow. Some more servants entered with platters of cold meats, fruits and nuts, steaming bread and several bottles of wine. Just a snack then. My Wardens helped themselves absently, as was a Grey Warden's want. Food never went to waste around them.

It was odd, no longer having such an appetite.

Connor dashed in a few minutes later, breathless and excited. It was the most animated I'd seen him in a long time. I gestured to the seat beside me, and he plonked himself down. Pickering wandered in soon after, and smiled at the way Connor could barely keep his seat.

Avernus shuffled in, and the conversation in the room slowed to a trickle. Though he was seemingly oblivious to the change, it was obvious that the old mage intimidated the other Wardens.

Perhaps ten minutes later, a servant announced the arrivals. Teyrn Aedan, Bann Teagan and Ambassador Larkworthy. Connor's face fell even as we rose.

Teagan, Aedan and William entered and bowed. "Wardens of Ferelden, thank you for receiving us. It is good to..." Aedan's eyes widened as he looked at me. "Kathryn?" he blurted.

I smiled, both at his surprise and at the bulging eyes from both Teagan and William. "Hello Aedan. How are you?"

"I... I should be asking you! We were told that some templars had abducted you. We thought you lost! What happened?"

I gripped my right wrist with my left hand in an effort to control the trembling. "They did abduct me. As far as we know, they believe they succeeded in making me vanish."

Teagan stared at me. "Kathryn, your voice..."

I shrugged, not answering.

Aedan turned to Teagan. "This changes things."

William cleared his throat. "Not necessarily, Teyrn Aedan."

I flicked my gaze between them. "Changes what?"

Aedan sobered. "The Orlesians have agreed to a temporary cessation of hostilities. They have offered their hospitality to negotiate a formal peace treaty. Their Majesties requested that Bann Teagan and I travel to Val Royeaux to represent them."

I felt a wave of relief. "Good, the sooner this stupid war is over the better. But what changes what?"

Teagan shrugged. "We don't know why there was such a sudden shift in the Empress' policy."

Aedan stared at me. "Isn't it obvious? They know Kathryn is alive."

o_ooo000ooo_o

Gaylen frowned. "I don't understand."

Cassandra poured the last of the wine into her glass. "Word reached back to the Divine that the templars stationed at Ostagar were obliterated to a man. Obliterated just days before the order to march north was delivered. As fortunate circumstances go, that one would take a bit of beating. Empress Celene chose to withdraw her troops from the border."

The mage swallowed. "I don't wish to show disrespect, but what of it? Surely the Imperial army was capable of invading without crippling Ferelden first."

Kathryn grinned impishly at the mage, but it was Cassandra who answered. "In warfare, if your opponent exhibits a capability you were not aware of, you stop until you learn everything you can about it. The Empress had no idea what happened at Ostagar. She concluded that the Fereldans had allied with whatever exterminated all those templars. All she knew for certain was that the timing strongly suggested that King Alistair was aware of the existence of the force, and that he knew of their purpose. He waited until the last moment to neutralize the threat."

"Ah, I suppose that's why I'm not a general," Gaylen said, rubbing the back of his neck, his face faintly red.

The grin didn't shift from the Warden's lips. "Celene needed more information before she could act. And so she turned to reconciliation to give her the necessary time. There was also the fact that Alistair knew of the templar involvement in my abduction. He'd sent some pretty insulting notes to Beatrix about it, but he also wrote to the various Warden Commanders around Thedas. Having the Grey Wardens in every country demanding answers from their own Grand Clerics put quite some pressure on her."

Cassandra crossed her arms, a sneer of contempt on her face. "And so, when feigned claims of ignorance did not work, Beatrix had twelve innocent templars selected and excommunicated."

Leliana looked at her comrade with concern at the uncharacteristic, blatant disrespect. "Perhaps she had no choice."

Cassandra rounded on her. "What possible excuse could there be?"

"Extortion?" Kathryn suggested, much to Cassandra's surprise.

"What?"

The Warden sipped her wine. "Had it just been Pickering, Thunder and me on that road, they would have succeeded in making us vanish without anyone knowing their identities. But thanks to Connor, the secret was discovered. Beatrix had just happily promoted, in secret, every surviving templar who'd taken part. Do you suppose ambitious, amoral templars who'd just been given power would willingly step aside just because their deeds became known?"

Cassandra sneered. "Hiding her complicity would be a more likely reason."

Kathryn shrugged. "Well, it was only by the demands of the First Warden that the templars were excommunicated anyway. Aedan stopped at Soldier's Peak to deliver an invitation to the Wardens in person. Beatrix offered her hospitality to a representative of each country's Wardens to observe the expulsion."

o_ooo000ooo_o

I leaned back in my chair. "They're seriously going to expel them?" I asked Aedan, doubt evident even in my damaged voice. "They were acting under orders. Darrian reported to the Divine herself."

Teagan cleared his throat. "Evidently. Grand Cleric Marguerite arrived in Denerim two weeks ago with several missives over the Divine's seal. One was an invitation for a representative from the Grey Wardens of Ferelden to bear witness to the expulsion."

I turned that over in my mind.

Daylen cleared his throat. "Er, I strongly suggest that you do not go, Commander," he said.

I frowned at him. "Don't be absurd. Of course I'm going. But not as a Fereldan Grey Warden representative." A plan began to form.

Oghren cackled. "Heh, grab hold of your stones, she's got that look on her face."

"What look?" Dagna asked.

"The look that means that some poor bastard is about to get it right up the arse."

I grinned at him. "Oghren, how would you feel about a trip to Orlais? You think Felsi and Chrys would fancy a change of scenery?"

o_ooo000ooo_o

AN: Thanks to my reviewers – Aeonir, Robbie the Phoenix, Shadow Pegasus, khaos974, GoldenDevil06, Anime-StarWars-fan-zach, MB18932, jaffa3, shadowassassian, NPC200, raw666, Mike3207, Markeriv, Fenrir666 (x12!), Arsinoe de Blassenville, Mage, Phygmalion, unanimously anonymous. mostly, Phlogiston Man, jaffa3 (x2), mattblue, TheNStorm, BloodyKitsune, Sauurman, a fan ch 25, hyperactiveslacker94, KrossWinter (x2) and a couple of guests. Thank you so much for sticking with this.

I must have written this chapter 4 times. Originally, it was a conversation between the Wardens, but it was 20k words long before it was even half done, and it was just becoming a chore to read. Then I wrote it as a flashback, but I just didn't like it. Even now I'm not happy with it, but I need to just get it out there so I can continue the story onto Orlais and Kirkwall.


	30. Expanding horizons

disclaimer type=standard

Anything you recognise is Bioware's. Anything else probably belongs to them too.

/disclaimer

o_ooo000ooo_o

Leliana made a face. "I cannot believe you sent Oghren of all people to audience with the Divine," she said with a small shake of her head. The faint whisper of a smile belied the chastisement behind her words.

Cassandra regarded the smirking elf, considering what she knew of her; and what she had learned of her in the last day, and made a rather simple deduction. "It was a deliberate insult."

Kathryn flashed a smile and a nod in her direction. "It was. There were other reasons, of course, but I didn't want the old battleaxe to think the Fereldan Wardens took her at all seriously."

Gaylen gasped and Leliana covered her mouth at the blatant disrespect shown to the previous Divine, but Cassandra simply rolled her eyes. "Did you instruct him to eunichize Prince Florensten, contaminate the holy font and publicly humiliate himself?"

"Nope. He did all that of his own volition. One of the reasons I specifically selected him was for his complete lack of diplomacy and inability to feel shame. But I was very impressed by just how infuriated he made our Orlesian hosts. The Divine was a mixture of red from embarrassment and white from fury." Kathryn evaluated her audience, smirked, and continued. "I even stole a massive, garish emerald and diamond necklace from the palace for him to give to Felsi as thanks." She held her hands up to her neck and ran them down her chest, miming the outline.

Gaylen started coughing and wheezing.

Leliana and Cassandra both wore expressions of disapproval. "I suppose I should not be surprised that it was _you_ whom pilfered the Imperial Jewels," the Navaran Seeker said tartly.

Kathryn shrugged. "Why would you be? I stole Loghain's crown, Rendon's silver and looted many a Bann's Denerim assets during the Blight. And that was with your colleague's willing assistance, I might point out," she said, indicating Leliana with a tilt of her head. "If we did all that to Fereldan-born, what possible reason could I have given you that would make you think I'd hesitate to help myself to jewellery simply because it belonged to someone foreign and royal?"

Cassandra pursed her lips, trying to ignore Leliana's faint blush of shame. "So a simple Grey Warden's wife wears the most expensive necklace ever crafted. What did you do with the rest? Give them to the local beggars?"

"Nope. After solidifying dwarvern control of Kal'Hirol, Bhelen finally had enough support among the deshyrs to marry his casteless consort. I gave the crown to Rica as a wedding gift. When she wore it next to her husband's Paragon-forged monstrosity, it barely rated as a tiara. The other jewellery and weapons..." the elf trailed off, a wistful smile on her face.

"Yes?"

"I kept the earrings and bracelets; I thought they were pretty and the idea of an elf mage wearing jewellery commissioned for the Orlesian emperor gave me tingles. Aedan and Fergus turned all sorts of wonderful colours when I wore them to a party they threw. The rest? I plucked out the jewels and smelted the remaining metal down into gold and silverite ingots. I bought the debts of selected Orlesian nobles with them."

Cassandra nodded, finding herself unmoved by the fate of the irreplaceable. "Your foray into the realm of Orlesian finance."

"Indeed. The beginning of it, at least. Val Royeaux opened up whole new vistas for me."

o_ooo000ooo_o

I leaned on the rail near the bow of the ship, looking out over the Waking Sea. The bright summer sunlight glittered off the top of each wave like thousands of sparkling diamonds. Several other vessels were within sight, sloughing their way through the choppy water with varying grace. The boards of the ship creaked and shifted in time with the rocking; rocking that had Oghren's face greener than his eyes. He hadn't come out of his cabin since we'd passed the breakwater of Highever's port.

Though not nauseous, I still felt unwell. My heart ached for Thunder. I had been almost as upset as he that he would need to be left behind. But keeping my presence a secret would be difficult if the single most recognisable hound in the world turned up in Orlais. It had been days before I could think of him without tears forming in my eyes.

Fortunately, we did have that distraction about half way through our trip. It was cathartic to let loose some destructive magic.

The spires of Val Royeaux in the distance caused me an odd chord of discomfort. I couldn't help but feel they were built to intimidate friend and enemy alike. Fort Drakon and Kinloch Hold were both tall, but they were built in antiquity by the predecessors of Ferelden. These towers were modern in comparison, built by the ancestors of those who resided within.

As I glared at the marvels of modern engineering, a voice from behind said, "We'll arrive tomorrow morning."

I turned. "Aedan," I greeted with a nod. "We look closer. Couldn't we reach the docks today?"

He shrugged. "We could, but the tide will be turning soon. It would be like trying to drag the ship up hill."

"Ah, I see. Well, Oghren will just have to wait. He'll no doubt want to travel back home either overland or through the Deep Roads."

Aedan leaned on the rail next to me. I was struck by the odd similarity between him in that pose and Alistair, leaning on the edge of Fort Drakon next to me so long ago in the lee of the archdemon corpse. "I'm sure he'll be happier off the ship. And from what I understand, he'll be quite upset to have missed the little ado with the pirates."

I shook my head. "Nah, he's missed entire fights because of me before. He'll mumble 'sodding elf' within my hearing a couple of times before consoling himself with the knowledge that we're trouble magnets and that the next fight will be just around the corner. Life with me is never dull."

He hummed an agreement. "I shall have to look into hiring mages for the rest of my teyrnir's shipping. Perhaps even commission a vessel or two specifically for battle; to take the fight to the pirates. It will be expensive, but worthwhile if more pirate vessels in Ferelden waters are reduced to ash."

I considered the possibilities. "There are always going to be people who figure it's easier to take stuff from others than work for it themselves. Pirates are like bandits. We fundamentally changed the banditry problem in my arling by using loaded, fat wagons as lures. Kit out your ships as if they're merchants rather than for battle and send them up and down the coast. Once their numbers are thinned a bit it will make the remaining pirates a little more wary about hitting genuine Fereldan merchants."

He chuckled, his deep voice making the laughter soothing. "I keep forgetting that you have a wickedly sharp mind. Your magic makes you as subtle as a sledge hammer in a fight."

"It has been remarked upon. Those pirates who tried to attack us certainly thought so. Their ship burned rather prettily."

He grunted an agreement before he turned and looked at me intently. "Are you going to be all right? It won't do at all for you to raze Val Royeaux to the ground."

"Wouldn't that make the negotiations easier?" I asked lightly.

"Shorter," he corrected firmly. "But far less productive."

I sighed. "It was a joke, Aedan. You don't need to treat me as an invalid."

He grunted. "Kat, I have nothing but the highest regard for you and your abilities. You were – are – the very person Ferelden needs; someone with the ability and drive to do what is necessary to triumph. Without you and your efforts our country would be nought but a blighted wasteland. I don't have the words to express just how indebted we are to you. But your proximity to these negotiations has the potential to be disastrous."

"I can be discreet," I insisted. "You've given me this lecture before. Three times by my count."

He sighed again. "It bears repeating. And it's not just you. If either you or Connor are identified it will severely hamper our efforts. We have to-"

"-announce everyone in the retinue, I know. And by hiding me and Connor you could be accused of bad faith. Aedan, _I know_. And I'm telling you now, these negotiations are a sham."

"I know that," he said forcefully. "I also know that we are in danger. If one of us were to die in an accident, no one would shed a tear. In many ways, it would even help their position, so I'll be shocked if we don't get attacked at least once during our travels in the city; probably while we're out shopping or on a hunting trip rather than at the Imperial Palace."

I snorted. "I thought the Orlesians were supposed to be cunning. That sounds a bit unsubtle."

He grinned ruefully. "It won't be anything as overt as a squad of Imperial Guards dressed in rude smocks. Someone from the Imperial Intelligence Service will be spreading rumours of a wealthy Fereldan noble arriving with few guards. Every thug and ruffian in the city will be waiting for us."

"Those we can handle. Just keep those amulets I gave you on and your potion within arm's reach. If you're poisoned, they'll glow green. Pull the cork and drink it immediately."

He nodded, and looked out over to the city on the horizon. "I'm not stupid, you know. You won't tell us what you plan, but I can hazard a good guess. Revenge won't change what happened."

I shrugged. "No, it won't. And that's not why I'm here."

"Then why?"

"You don't need to know," I insisted.

"Are you going to kill the templars who abducted you?" he demanded pointedly.

"No," I responded, with very specific honesty.

"Then what?" he demanded.

"Have you ever heard the phrase, it's easier to get forgiveness than permission?"

He drew a deep breath and let it out in a long, steady stream. "I can't countenance this, Kat. By Royal decree, I am leading this delegation. If I think for one moment that you, or whatever you are planning, will put either the negotiations or anyone under my protection at risk, I will do whatever is necessary to stop you."

I looked up into his clear and honest eyes. "I would expect no less of you."

He nodded, satisfied that he had made his point. "I have no wish to be at odds with you, Kat. No sane person would. But I have a duty, and I must see it through." He gave a soft bark of laughter. "I'm a Cousland. It's our family motto."

* * *

><p>The next morning, rather than the much larger and busier merchant shipping docks, the ship's captain steered us towards the fortified quay reserved for royal and diplomatic vessels. True to Aedan's prediction, we docked less than an hour after the sky began to lighten the next morning. True to my prediction, Oghren was all but pushing everyone else off the gangplank into the water in his rush to shore.<p>

Once I was off the ship, I bumped my shoulder against him to keep him from staggering. Aedan, Teagan and William presented themselves and their credentials to the dockmaster. The officious little man held his chin high and a scented square of cloth near his nose as he greeted the delegation with as much disdain as he could muster. The effect would have been less ludicrous had he been slightly taller. As it was, his haughtily raised chin could be explained away by having to address a man over a foot taller. Aedan was very tall, after all.

"Sodding surfacers," Oghren grumbled. "If I ever meet the utter bastard who decided a floating wooden box was a good way to travel..." The threat was somewhat neutralised by his pale complexion. He pulled out an earthenware jug and took a swig. Colour returned to his cheeks so quickly it was like a potion.

I answered with a whuff. I'd long figured that the easiest way to smuggle myself into a city was to do so as a mabari as part of a Fereldan delegation. Connor was snug in mouse form in Oghren's backpack.

He wiped a hand across his mouth. "'m glad Fels didn't want to come," the berserker continued, looking better but still sounding shockingly weak. "She doesn't need to see me like this."

Pickering struggled down the gangplank with a few heavy bags. "I'm glad to be back on dry land," he groaned.

"You and me both, laddie. Fancy a drink?"

Pickering looked at Aedan's back. "Er, I don't think we should go anywhere yet. I think we're meant to go to the palace."

Oghren snorted. "Who said anything about going anywhere?" he asked, pulling another bottle out from a different pocket. "Here, give this a go. It'll put hair on your chest."

"I have hair on my chest," Pickering retorted with the pride of youth.

"Then it'll put more hair on your chest."

Pickering considered that, and reached a decision. He took the offered bottle and raised it to his lips. A single swallow caused some amusing bulging in his cheeks and an explosion of coughing.

"Good stuff, eh?"

Eyes streaming, Pickering handed the bottle back. "What is that?" he wheezed.

Oghren grinned. "Just something Drake and I cooked up."

"What's in it?"

"Apples," Oghren replied. "Well, mostly."

* * *

><p>Our entourage was escorted from the docks to a number of waiting carriages. Obviously they were sent to impress, or at least demoralize. Precious metal featured prominently in the tracing; the identical black horses each had silver-embossed reins, the curtains were made of shimmering silk, and even the spokes of the wheels were plated in gold.<p>

I fought down my first instinct, which was to steal them.

The trip to the palace was short, barely half a mile. A veritable army of servants met us in a staging yard. Our contingent was outnumbered by the swarm of valets, maids and groomsmen who escorted us into the Imperial Palace.

It was like a fairy tale, full of tall, narrow towers topped with spires, and artworks dotting the walls along carpeted corridors. The rooms in the Imperial Palace assigned to Aedan and the rest of his party turned out to be... palatial.

Shadow and I received looks of consternation from several of the staff. One impeccably dressed fellow wafted one of those scented handkerchiefs that seemed in fashion in front of his face. He begged that we mabari move over to and remain upon the padded linen laid out in one corner of the room.

We sat stock still on an expensive carpet in the centre of the room, staring up at him, our mouths open and our tongues lolling. A canine sense of humour is pretty basic.

There were several items of correspondence that needed attention; one of which was addressed to the Wardens. While Aedan, Teagan and William established themselves in the various adjoining bedchambers, Oghren broke the wax seal and opened the letter.

"Heh, the First Warden thought Nate would be coming. More fool him." He scanned the parchment. "I'm supposed to go see the local Wardens, who'll have further orders. Fair enough. Coming?"

I whuffed an affirmative, but darted over to his pack. With my nose, I noodled out one of his Legionnaire gauntlets.

"Yeah, you're probably right."

A short while later, Oghren bade farewell to the noblemen and sauntered out into the palace corridors. I trotted at his side, looking the very picture of an obedient warhound. Even having lived on the surface of Thedas for a few years, Oghren still retained his dwarvern sense of direction. He led our way out without taking a single wrong turn.

The guards on the main doors did challenge us, but Oghren ignored them. Guards were supposed to keep people out, after all. "Those nughumpers need to learn how to speak a proper language," he muttered to me.

I gave a canine laugh.

Before we reached the gates, a young man bolted out of the palace and over to us. In a thick accent he offered to act as our guide while in the city. His expression indicated that any refusal on our part would probably be considered a failure on his.

Oghren at least picked up on the unspoken plea. He shrugged and asked to be taken to the Grey Warden compound. With a nod of understanding, we were off out the main gates.

We meandered through the streets of Orlais, following our guide. I was rather pleased to be in my canine form; the sights of Val Royeaux would probably have me gaping like an uncouth idiot had I walked the streets as an elf.

Where the streets of Denerim were mostly packed earth or cobblestones, Val Royeaux was almost universally paved. Expensive Ferelden buildings were constructed of stone. Here, they were sheathed in marble. Denerim's main 'market square' was literally a single open area with barely enough room for a few dozen temporary stalls; and it was only called a square because calling it 'market concave-irregular-polygon' would have caused you to be run out of town. The Place du Marché was an enormous, sprawling entity, with row upon row of vendors selling everything from jewellery to silks to wine to poisons – or possibly fish, I wasn't sure.

Even Oghren was impressed. "It's a good thing Felsi decided not to come. She'd have spent a year's worth of my loot in a day."

I gave him a whuff of agreement, to which our guide gave a look of surprise.

The Grey Warden compound was just as impressive as the rest of the nearby buildings; which was to say it looked like it would suit a teyrn as a city house in Denerim. Oghren introduced himself to the doorman, and we were granted entrance.

Though quite sparse compared to the palace, the inside of the compound was by no means austere. The walls were panelled in varnished hardwood and the floors polished. Trophies dotted the walls at regular intervals, though the specimens were decidedly unimpressive compared to what I'd faced in the last few years. A few Wardens wandered the halls, some carrying books, some carrying weapons. But they were outnumbered significantly by the servants.

Of course, an established Warden compound had an enormous kitchen and corresponding staff.

We were led to a set of well-appointed rooms; two bedchambers connected to a reception room lined with tapestries and furnished with deep leather chairs. Oghren was invited to make himself comfortable and to ring a small bell on a side table to summon a servant. We were left alone.

"Not a bad spread," Oghren remarked, gazing around the room. "Some of those chairs look a bit flaky though."

I eyed the delicately carved and contoured chairs, and didn't disagree.

He dropped his kit and noodled around, examining a cabinet at one end, looking for something to drink. He gave a bottle a detailed examination. A few moments later there was a knock at the door.

It was a Warden. He had dark hair and an impressive moustache, the points of which stretched down past the sides of his mouth to level with his chin. "Well met, Brother. I am Stroud," he introduced himself. "We were expecting Nathaniel Howe, but from Fiona's description, you can only be Oghren Kondrat."

"Aye, that's me," Oghren replied, putting the bottle down. The pair clasped forearms in greeting.

"It is an honour to meet you." He spoke the language perfectly well, though with a strong Orlesian accent.

Oghren looked a bit sceptical at the claim. "Really? Your note said…"

"Any correspondence you received was not from me. Like you, I am merely a guest here to witness the excommunication ceremony. I represent the Grey Wardens of the Free Marches."

Oghren snarled at the reminder.

"However, any Warden is honoured to meet someone who stood against an archdemon. My Commander is a student of history. Through his examination of the archives he has come to the conclusion that you are the only non-Warden to trade blows with an archdemon and live since the First Blight."

"Heh, really?" Oghren asked dubiously.

"Just so. The report of the battle we received describes your heroics vividly. Did Urthemiel truly pick you up in his mouth and spit you out?"

Oghren unconsciously rubbed his chest along the line of scars. "Aye. Blasted lizard had the worst breath you've ever smelled. Stank even worse than a Dust Town sewer."

Stroud shook his head in wonder. "Incredible." He appeared to notice me. "This is your hound? An impressive beast."

Oghren shook his head and snorted in amusement. "She's not mine. If anything, you could say that I'm her dwarf. She goes where she wants; does what she wants. We've fought together a time or two though. So long as you don't speak that fancy Orlesian, she can understand you well enough. I'll give you a warning though; don't get her angry."

Stroud blinked. "She understands language?"

"Fereldan, sure."

"I see. The tales of the warhounds of Ferelden are not exaggerated then?"

"Nope. Even the Qunari that bunked with us during the Blight respected them. I just wish they'd let me hitch up some chariots."

Stroud nodded, his mind obviously not on dogs or Oghren's plans for canine cavalry. "If I may – I have some information for your Commander. It is regarding the Warden named Anders."

I suddenly found myself intensely interested in the conversation.

"Sparklefingers? What of him? He scarpered a few months back."

Despite the momentary confusion at the odd nickname, Stroud continued. "I encountered him in the Deep Roads near Kirkwall."

"Eh? What was he doing there?"

Stroud sat. "That is quite the story. Essentially, he was befriended by a Ferelden-born refugee in Kirkwall by the name of Hawke. Hawke and her sister were partners in an expedition into the Deep Roads to loot what they could while the darkspawn were in retreat."

Oghren nodded sagely. "Best time for it."

"Perhaps," Stroud replied, diplomatically. "But you are aware that there are other dangers in the deep. Dangers that are just as lethal as the darkspawn they wished to avoid."

"I didn't say it wasn't a monumentally stupid idea," Oghren pointed out, "just that it was the best time to risk it."

Stroud inclined his head, acknowledging the point. "The taint is insidious that far down. Hawke's sister became infected on the journey back to the surface. My Wardens and I were patrolling nearby and Anders sought us out. He asked that we Join Bethany."

Both Oghren and I snarled. The fact a dog seemed able to follow the conversation astonished Stroud. "The sodding deserter is giving out our secrets too?" Oghren spat.

Stroud shook his head, still looking at me appraisingly. "More like – confirming a rumour. He said only that joining the Grey Wardens would delay her tainted death. I accepted her as a recruit and took her with us. Bethany underwent the Joining and survived."

"So where did Sparklefingers go after that?"

"Back to the undercity of Kirkwall. He has established a clinic of sorts in the area known as Darktown."

Oghren frowned. "Eh? A what?"

Stroud looked at the dwarf quizzically. "A clinic. He heals the injured and sick among the numerous poor of the city."

I glanced up at Oghren. That didn't sound like Anders at all.

"Really? That doesn't sound like something he'd do," he said to Stroud, echoing my thoughts almost verbatim. "Sparklefingers is the sort who'd let the world go hang so long as he's left alone."

"Then perhaps he has changed from his time in the Wardens. Facing the darkspawn may have given him a sense of duty, or compassion. Or perhaps he is merely trying to right a pervasive injustice."

I yelped as the epiphany born of Stroud's words struck.

* * *

><p>I paid little attention to the rest of the meeting. The conclusion that Justice was still in the mortal realm and hosted within Anders was based on circumstantial evidence and second-hand observations, but it was persuasive. I pondered how to react to the news while keeping as little attention as necessary on my surroundings.<p>

Stroud and Oghren chatted for a while, swapping stories of their time in the Deep Roads. The Orlesian Warden-Commander made an appearance, and started when he recognised Oghren's name. The fact that my old friend had actually traded blows with the archdemon turned him into somewhat of a celebrity among the Wardens of Thedas, behind only Loghain and myself.

As the identity and history of their guest spread, most of the other Wardens in the compound stopped by to be introduced to him. Oghren took it in his stride, not finding it at all odd or uncomfortable that warriors would wish to congratulate him on his martial accomplishments.

Representatives from the Anderfels, Tevinter, Nevarra and the Free Marches were already here, and the ship carrying the Antivan and Rivani Wardens was a day or so overdue. The Divine had declared that the ceremony of excommunication would take place with all representatives of the wronged party witnessing.

I was darkly amused that she was more correct than she suspected.

The gossip in the compound indicated that her unprecedented action had not been made out of a desire for reconciliation, as Alistair believed. The political and financial pressure the Grey Wardens had brought to bear on the Chantry had quite literally forced her into a humiliating retreat. The Grand Cleric of the Anderfels had been all but taken prisoner; interrogated long and hard over the possible involvement of the Chantry hierarchy in the abduction of a Grey Warden. Tithes had been ordered withheld and there had even been skirmishes between templars and Wardens. The Black Divine had even published propaganda, seeking to persuade the masses that action taken against me was against the will of the Maker.

I briefly considered sending the bastard a note of appreciation.

Oghren was offered a bunk in the barracks as night fell, but he declined. His kit was still back at the Imperial Palace, along with a much larger selection of booze. He made his farewells, we picked up our young guide who was snoozing in the compound's antechamber, and headed back.

The streets of Val Royeaux were much different at night. Where Denerim was lit by candlelight from windows and by the City Watch's torches as they made their rounds, the main streets of the Orlesian capital were lit at regular intervals by magical, glowing sprites contained in glass orbs. It gave the place an eerie feel, full of dancing shadows.

Of course, the sense of unease was compounded by the fact we weren't alone. We were followed most of our trip, but not accosted. The mysterious figures did well to keep out of sight, but in my canine form I could hear their whispers and footsteps quite clearly.

Aedan and William were still up, discussing some important diplomatic strategy. The Teyrn looked relieved at our appearance, presumably due to the lack of visible blood. We did not disturb them.

Once behind closed doors in Oghren's assigned bedchamber, I reverted to my elf form. "Interesting day."

"Tell me about it," he grumbled, scrounging around in his pack. There was a clink.

I rubbed the back of my neck. "I need to ask you a favour."

He chuckled and took a swig. "This got something to do with what you've got planned for them arses?"

I nodded. "The Divine won't hand them over to the Wardens, even though she has to disavow their actions. I need to follow them once they've been excommunicated, but I need whatever guards placed on them to be distracted."

He nodded. "I can do that. As a matter of fact, I think I can do you one better."

"Oh?"

He grinned, and there wasn't any humour at all behind the expression. "You want a distraction, I want to show them how pissed I am with them. Hacking them all to bits would be my first choice."

I smiled. "It would probably cause more problems than it solved. People would talk, you know?"

"Aye. Sodding surfacers; you don't know how politics is supposed to be played."

I punched him on the shoulder. "I remember seeing Harrowmont's dwarves butchered in the street of Orzammar. Is that what you mean?"

He nodded. "Aye. They didn't make trouble afterwards, did they?"

"True. But that only works when you've got the men to pull it off. And while I could feasibly lay waste to this entire city, let's keep that as a last option."

He grunted in amused disapproval. "Fine, I'll get you your distraction, and no one will be hurt. Well, not too many. And not unless they get really pissed at me."

"Will they?"

"Oh aye. Count on it."

o_ooo000ooo_o

Kathryn paused. "For all the Divine's disparate motivations, the ceremony turned into a farce."

Cassandra snorted. "An understatement."

The elf shrugged. "I'll admit that it was my fault. I wanted to infiltrate the group of excommunicated templars and discover where they were to be taken to begin their lives of 'reflection and restitution' at a distant monastery. I'd already started planning their abduction. But I left the details of the distraction up to Oghren. You know the rest."

Leliana looked at her friend intently. "What tipped you off that the men were not those who abducted you?"

Kathryn snorted derisibly. "Their physiques, of course. Not a single one was short and slender like Darrian. And it was patently obvious that Peggie wasn't among them."

Leliana frowned. "Peggie?"

"William Sutherland, of South Reach," Cassandra supplied. "He lost a leg to a wound Kathryn delivered him in the Korkari Wilds."

The bard shook her head. "They truly must have believed that you died under the earth, if they did not even try and match the physical characteristics of the perpetrators."

Kathryn chuckled darkly. "For an order of warriors, there weren't as many individuals with one leg as you might imagine. But in any event, not all of them did actually believe me dead."

Cassandra frowned. "How do you know that?"

"That," Kathryn said with enigmatic satisfaction, "was the genesis of Anora's Hands. But we're getting ahead of ourselves. The excommunication ceremony was held the day after the Antivan and Rivaini Grey Wardens arrived. We were summoned and assembled in the Grand Cathedral. The twelve templars were brought into the temple, stripped to their kilts and blindfolded. I could tell right away that they weren't the men who captured me, but as Connor and I were in our surreptitious shapes up in the rafters, I wasn't in any position to explain that to Oghren."

Gaylen frowned. "Surreptitious shape?" he whispered to Leliana.

Leliana laid a hand upon his. "She was a mouse."

"Ah."

Kathryn grinned at him. "Just after the ritual started Oghren stood up in the silence and swore bloody retribution upon them as they were led down the aisle to the Divine. It caused a bit of a fuss, but he eventually shut up at Stroud's insistence. The priest spouted some ritual words, chastising the templars for their actions and their blackened souls. She then tore their amulets from their necks. They were daubed with filth, splashed with brackish water, and slapped on both cheeks with a bundle of twigs before being herded out and away to their fate. There was a service then, to pray for my soul and theirs, but Oghren stormed out."

Gaylen blinked. "Out? I thought he stayed."

The elf shrugged. "He needed to leave to give credence to his performance. Everyone could believe that an alcoholic dwarf would drink himself into insensibility. And appearing drunk enough to get away with insulting everyone so very badly was necessary. Half an hour later, he stormed back in, and the entertainment really began."

o_ooo000ooo_o

I watched in amusement as Oghren stumbled back through the entryway of the Cathedral, looking as though drunk as a lord. And given the near-empty bottle of absinthe in his hand, everyone below thought him soaring like an eagle as well.

That wasn't what caused the stunned silence, however. Even I blinked at his sheer audacity. He was naked. It was not a sight for the weak-hearted; dwarves were not the most attractive race in Thedas, and Oghren was no prize by even their measure, but he was most categorically male. And the row of angry, silver-purple scars running diagonally down his chest and abdomen stood out vividly among the many, many scars on his body. It was obvious that he was a warrior; and just as obvious that he was used to injury.

To the sea of gaping mouths, he made some slurred, disparaging comments. The transept was, in his words, 'dinky' when compared to the glory of the Deep Roads. The design of the vaulted roof was so woeful that he cast aspersions on the ancestry of the architect. He suddenly stopped speaking, mid-insult. For a moment, he looked as though he were solemnly considering some weighty issue.

He looked around, and gave a small shout of discovery. He turned his back on the congregation, giving them an unrestricted view of the other row of archdemon-teeth scars on his back. He zigzagged over to the font of holy water at the door, balanced the bottle on the edge with exaggerated care, and rose unsteadily onto his tiptoes.

For one glorious moment, the only sound in the entire building was a gentle tinkle.

The combined, outraged roar that followed the assembled crowd overcoming their collective shock would have scared birds a mile away into flight. One templar somewhat quicker on the uptake rushed my friend, only to discover that though seemingly inebriated, Oghren still had a warrior's instincts. And a mean backhand.

The templar spun and fell to the floor with a crash, several teeth skipping along the stone floor. Oghren didn't even pause his piss; or even lose his aim. He just shook his hand, dislodging the tooth embedded in the knuckle.

Several Grey Wardens closed on him, though with much less aggression. Stroud begged him to cover up while a couple of Rivaini Wardens raised their cloaks to shield their dwarven brother from the eyes of the rest of the congregation. Their expressions showed that they found the entire episode highly amusing, though were desperately trying to hide that fact.

Voices went from raised to howling as the crowd's mood fed upon their own outrage. Arguments sprang up all through the assembled crowd. Several templars stationed outside the cathedral rushed in to see what all the fuss was about.

And throughout it all, Oghren just finished his ablution as though it were the most normal thing in the world. He even shook to ensure all the drops ended up in the font rather than on the floor.

How considerate of him.

One garishly dressed chap barged forward through the crowd. He obviously had the rank and mood to cut his way through a crowd of pissed off nobles. I couldn't make out his words over the din, but his mottled face indicated that he had some pretty strong views on my friend's disrespectful action.

Stroud and the Orlesian Warden-Commander met the charging fellow head on, holding up their hands in a gesture of mollification. The action had little success; the peacock simply leaned to one side and shouted at the dwarf. Oghren looked at him quizzically, and then staggered a few steps closer.

My friend looked at Stroud, his expression baffled. Stroud spoke quickly, and understanding lit up on Oghren's face. Whatever was said caused him to look around for something.

As Oghren searched, the Orlesian Warden-Commander made some sort of plea with the Divine, whose face looked even more pickled than usual. She flatly refused his request.

Oghren stomped over to the first templar who attempted to stop the desecration of the sacred font. Appearing barely able to keep his balance, he deliberately bent over with his bare backside prominently pointed towards the crowd.

The sight proved too much for more than one lady. Several fainted. The Divine gasped and turned away. I ached all over from the effort of not reverting to my normal form to laugh.

Oghren wrenched off the prone templar's right boot. He gave a whoop of success and set about putting the metal shoe on.

The confusion in the crowd mounted. Even Stroud just stood there, completely befuddled.

Single metallic shoe on, Oghren stamped it a few times to settle his foot, stood as tall as a dwarf could and announced, "All righ', 'm r'dy."

Over several vocal objectors, the peacock barked an order in Orlesian. Everyone moved back, leaving Oghren, Stroud and the unknown man in the centre of a widening space. Stroud made one last ditch effort in mediation, but was rebuffed by both parties; an aggrieved shout by the man and a nonchalant shrug by the dwarf. The man barked an order at Stroud, who nodded, and offered Oghren his sword. Oghren glanced at the blade, snorted with derision, and looked back at the man, swaying only slightly.

With an expression of defeat, Stroud backed away as well. He raised an arm, and counted slowly. He dropped his arm swiftly.

The man exploded into action, drawing his sword back and then leaping forward. He thrust his sword in a very dramatic, yet highly visible way. Even I would have had no problem defending against it.

Oghren moved forward too, stepping forward with his left foot. He slapped the blade aside with his forearm, opening a small gash. Using his momentum, he brought his armoured right foot up abruptly, kicking the popinjay hard in what Oghren would call the twig and berries.

The butterfly gave a truncated half-grunt, half-squeal as he was propelled into the air a good foot and a half. He collapsed upon himself like a snail into its shell. Every man in the room, with the exception of Oghren himself, winced. That kick would have dropped a bear.

In the silence that followed, Oghren snorted with derision at the trembling ball of agony on the stone floor in front of him. He made a rude gesture to the rest of the assembly, turned and stormed out, his departure captured by the odd clanking of one blood-stained metal boot.

I had to scratch Connor's back to get his attention. With a gesture, I sent him off on his mission, while I scampered down and away back to our rooms.

o_ooo000ooo_o

Cassandra raised a fist to her lips, as though in thought, to cover the traitorous twitching.

Kathryn grinned knowingly at her, but continued.

o_ooo000ooo_o

The aftermath was predictably loud and recriminating. Fingers pointed in every direction. Aedan and Teagan came under some sustained criticism, though they rightfully pointed out that Oghren was not officially a member of their entourage, and they had not been invited to witness the excommunication ritual in any event.

The Wardens, though officially censuring Oghren for his behaviour, privately applauded his actions. The fact that the Divine herself had given permission for the impromptu duel to take place weakened the Chantry's objections. The fact that Florensten had been championing the Chantry when he had been comprehensibly defeated, in the very house of the Maker himself, humiliated the Divine all the more.

Oghren, of course, ignored it all. He stayed at the Orlesian Warden compound, soaking up booze and compliments while the diplomatic storm raged. He happily sparred with dozens of our brothers, showcasing an entirely unique blend of dwarvern berserker and Qunari discipline. A few of the more experienced Wardens were capable of standing head-to-chest with him for a while, but his inventive, unsporting techniques ended most mock-battles just seconds after they began.

It was refreshing, and quite pleasant, not to be the focal point of crowd rage. But things were not universally satisfactory.

I was lying as a canine in front of the fire, mulling my plans when my little spy returned. It was entertaining to see his little nose twitch as he checked for anyone watching.

Connor returned to his human form. "I found them, Arlessa Kathryn. You were right. The one called Darrian was there."

I fought down a shiver before returning to my own elf form. "First things first, are you all right? It can't have been easy for you, watching over a bunch of templars."

His eyes flashed, but he nodded. "They weren't the ones who did… It wasn't them. I'm fine."

I nodded slowly. "Okay then. Was Darrian reporting to the Knight-Divines?"

The lad bit his lip. "Sort of."

"What do you mean?"

Connor suddenly looked nervous, a marked contrast to his previous silverite expression. "Um…"

It amused me that someone less than fifteen years of age who'd killed over thirty grown men was still nervous around me. I reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder, noting with some surprise that he was now taller than me. "Just tell me, Connor. I won't be angry with you."

"He is a Knight-Divine. He was promoted."

An icy river of horror spread through my gut. Of all the possible scenarios I'd considered, that had not been one of them. "Tell me everything," I ground out through clenched teeth.

He flinched, but nodded. "I followed the Knight-Divine from the Cathedral. There is a big room where they meet. They finally went there today, and I managed to get there just after the meeting began. Darrian was – forceful."

* * *

><p>"<em>The decision to make the dwarf Oghren the Fereldan Warden's representative has Kathryn Surana's influence all over it."<em>

_One of the Knight-Divines nodded. "I agree with you there," he said in heavily accented Orlesian._

"_Darrian, she is dead," another insisted. "Dead, or as good as."_

"_You do not know that, Fenwick," Darrian insisted. "None of you do. Without access to her phylactery or corpse, we have no way of confirming her status."_

_The Knight-Divine named Fenwick slammed a fist on the arm of his chair. "I took her into the Deep Roads myself! I stayed and listened as she was carried away by the darkspawn. She had no weapon, no armour and no magic. She is either dead or spawning. In denying that, you are giving her far too much credit."_

_Darrian rounded on the templar and jabbed a finger in his direction. "And you do not give her enough. She and those she surrounds herself with are capable of feats that border on the impossible. We sent more than enough men to eliminate a crippled dog, an apprentice mage and a bodyguard who was, by all accounts, unexceptional. Yet our men died while this Pickering, Apprentice Guerrin and the dog all survived. How? We don't know. But they did and testified that the Hero of Ferelden was abducted by templars. The second worst case scenario I predicted."_

_Fenwick coughed. "They must have had help to-"_

"_Balderdash! Do you honestly think it likely that they encountered help on a deserted road in the middle of the night capable of defeating an eight man squad? Or that perhaps we underestimated an unknown guard, someone who was given the task of protecting one of the most singularly powerful mages in Thedas?"_

"_Well..."_

_Darrian continued. "I warned you to be mindful of Kathryn's ability to escape the inescapable. You thought you could break her spirit; you failed. You left her to be tormented at hands of a psychopathic misogynist, and in less than a quarter of an hour he was emasculated and she had the rest of the squad feeding her!"_

"_Conchobar erred-"_

"_Conchobar is an imbecile!" Darrian snapped. "He is a spiteful, vindictive idiot. And giving him oversight of the Nevarran Circle all but guarantees that a subversive element will form within a year. If we are lucky, they will be discovered before anyone can be harmed."_

_An older man cleared his throat. "Your analysis of situations and predictions have always been impressively accurate, Darrian, but I feel your personal involvement with this mage may be clouding your judgement."_

_Darrian's shoulders slumped. "You are wilfully blinding yourself to a possibility that could spell disaster for the Chantry," he insisted. "Just the knowledge that Chantry forces abducted her has caused much dissention. Divine Beatrix had to endure humiliation beyond belief to assuage the indignation of the Grey Wardens. If Kathryn Surana lives, the theatre show performed today will be for naught."_

_Fenwick crossed his arms. "Why can you not admit that you were wrong? You said that if she were alive, then she would make a personal appearance at the excommunication ceremony. The Wardens can sense their own. Our agent in their ranks confirmed that no unannounced Warden gained entry."_

"_Unless she has found a way to hide the taint in her veins," Darrian said, but without conviction._

"_You sound as though you are desperately searching for a reason your prediction did not bear out," the older Knight-Divine said sternly._

_Darrian rubbed his forehead. "I know. I apologise. But there is ample reason to believe that Kathryn Surana lives. The Wardens are hiding someone at Soldier's Peak; we know this. Nathaniel Howe disappeared for months; who would have the authority to send him anywhere? Ferelden's representative is the most insulting choice imaginable; exactly the sort of person she would send. Even her bodyguard Pickering is in the Ferelden entourage! The man who testified in front of the Ferelden King that templars abducted his vassal. His presence is a blatant taunt to us!"_

"_Or he simply could be a highly competent guard whose skill ensured he was selected to protect Teryn Aedan," the oldest Knight-Divine suggested, his tone sceptical._

_Darrian appeared to recognise that he had lost his audience. "I know that the probability of her surviving the Deep Roads in her condition was remote, but if she did then it explains much of what we do not understand. She is unquestionably the most talented living battlemage outside our Circles. While it may be uncomfortable to believe, it is possible she has the capability to lay waste to a fortress as happened at Ostagar."_

_That did not go down well. "Preposterous! I refuse to believe that one mage could slaughter a hundred templars, let alone almost ten times as many."_

"_Then what did? And why have we not seen it since? The Fereldan King is not concerned that a force capable of such destruction sits on his southern border, so he must at least know of it, if he has not allied with it."_

_Fenwick interjected. "Perhaps it was a dragon. The Wardens of Ferelden have been seen with dragons as pets. Perhaps they tamed it?"_

_Darrian shook his head. "A dragon is a destructive beast for certain, but capable of laying waste to a fortress manned with almost a thousand templars? I think not. It took fewer than two dozen people to directly battle the archdemon during the Blight. It took just four to kill the false Andraste in Haven."_

"_Both groups led by the very mage you think capable of destroying the garrison at Ostagar," the older Knight-Divine pointed out._

_Darian waved his hand brusquely. "Those were simply the examples in living memory. Historically, the dragon-hunters of Nevarra worked in small teams. As demoralising as facing such a beast is, it was possible for a small, well trained, well equipped group to slay one. No, whatever it was that destroyed the men at Ostagar was powerful with a human intelligence, capable of strategy and tactics."_

"_This discussion is pointless. You believe that Surana lives, I do not. We," he clarified with a wave of his hand to encompass the entire room, "do not. You offer no proof, merely speculation coupled with predictions of doom if you are correct. I am sorry my friend, but unless you uncover some convincing evidence, I cannot entertain these suggestions."_

_Darrian slumped as the group dispersed. A few touched his shoulder as they left, but offered no words of encouragement. Eventually, only he and Fenwick remained in the room._

_Fenwick spoke. "I must ask, what action do you wish us to take? Does it require that we believe her still living?"_

_Darrian sighed deeply. "She knows our names, thanks to that idiot Conchobar. If she does live, then the Chantry cannot disavow itself from her abduction. Every man involved needs to be removed from their positions and reassigned."_

_Fenwick's expression bulged with surprised indignation. "You ask for too much. I have striven my entire life to become a Knight-Divine; and now having been promoted to their company, you wish me to voluntarily resign my commission?"_

"_Fenwick," Darrian began._

"_No! I refuse to entertain such a notion." He stormed from the room._

_Darrian sat alone in silence for a long time. "No," he whispered. "You wouldn't. And in that pride are the seeds of our downfall."_

* * *

><p>I took a deep breath and let it out slowly as Connor finished his report. It was a lot to take in. He looked at me with an odd expression on his face. I nodded and said, "Well done, Connor. Excellent work."<p>

"Thank you, Arlessa Kathryn."

I scratched my cheek. "You know, having a mage with the ability to shapeshift as a spy would be advantageous, don't you think?"

He nodded. "I thought about that as I waited for the Knight-Divines to meet. King Alistair could use lots of mages that way."

I smirked. "Anora would be a better bet, I'm guessing. Alistair would probably be more inclined to use you as he does me – as a blunt instrument when his wants to make his displeasure known."

"His Majesty wouldn't do that!"

I raised an eyebrow. "Connor, the king sent me to the Circle because they weren't answering his letters. I killed fourteen templars because they wouldn't let me in or out of the building. I slaughtered two dozen assassins in a Denerim cell in one night and scared the rest into working for him. Half the reason Alistair hasn't had as much trouble from the Landsmeet as his predecessors is that all the nobles are terrified of me."

He looked at me uncertainly, but seemed to accept the point. "Um, can I ask a question?"

I nodded.

"Why did you choose Oghren to come with you? It annoyed the Knight-Divines, but he's not really suited to sneaking around. And you need to be sneaking around."

I considered how to answer. "It couldn't have been anyone else."

"Why not?"

I sighed. "Of all my Wardens, Oghren is the only one I could trust enough to do what's necessary, if the worst happened. He's the only one who could."

He frowned. "No, all your Wardens would do what you wanted them to. They would follow you anywhere."

I held up a hand. "You misunderstand. Oghren can do all the templar tricks; he can smite harder than just about any I've met. He's tough, strong, resistant to magic and can make hard decisions in the middle of combat."

He looked lost. "What are you talking about?"

I closed my eyes, wondering if I should burden the lad with the answer. I quickly quashed that thought; Connor was hard and tough, and treating him as a child would be an insult. "Oghren is the only Warden I have who could, and would, kill me if it was necessary."

His eyes bulged and his mouth dropped. "What?" he breathed.

"For all the healing the Ashes did, I still thought there was a chance that I could have lost my mind if I encountered Darrian, or one of the other templars who kidnapped me. That's why I picked Oghren to come. If I lost it, he could stop me before many people were hurt."

* * *

><p>Aedan gave me a sour face in response to my question that evening. "No, the negotiations are not going well."<p>

I snorted. "You expected that, remember?"

William daubed his upper lip with his napkin. "Lord Aedan's frustration is justified, Arlessa Kathryn. Our Orlesian counterparts are demanding significant restitution for the loss of their military assets during the recent unpleasantness."

I felt my jaw drop. "They attacked us… _invaded_ us… and they're demanding _we_ pay _them_ for _their_ losses?"

"Just so," the fussy little man said, completely unperturbed. He placed the napkin back on the table, aligned precisely to the rest of the cutlery. "The sheer audaciousness of the demand leads me to suspect the negotiations are intended to fail." He picked up the teacup for another sip.

I frowned, wondering if there was another explanation. Such a blatant tactic sounded out of character for the subtle Orlesians. "Are they playing for time? Or are they trying to extract unreasonable concessions?" I scratched my head. "Or are they looking to punish you for Oghren's actions?"

Aedan shook his head. "Not the last at least. They made the initial restitution demand before the excommunication ritual. The Empress' lead negotiator has been somewhat more obstinate in his negotiations since, it's true, but their strategy has not changed."

I rubbed my chin. "How much are they-?"

Aedan snorted. "Too much. Ferelden, crippled as we are, could not afford a fifth of what they are demanding. It is beyond all reason."

I looked at him in surprise. "You were actually considering paying them?" I blurted. "I mean, I was just curious what they thought we couldn't come up with."

William replaced the cup and once again picked up the napkin, fastidiously wiping his upper lip and moustache. "His Majesty's instructions were to negotiate a peace treaty at any cost. Our hosts may well be subtly trying to establish how depleted Ferelden's resources are."

Aedan nodded, impatience in his manner. "Of course they are. But they're not even-"

"Is the payment timetable in question?" I interrupted.

Both men stared at me. "Excuse me?" Aedan said.

I collected my thoughts. "Have the negotiations focused on the timetable to deliver the restitution? I mean, could we agree on a figure, and then agree to pay in instalments?"

William clasped his hands and leaned forward. "Arlessa Kathryn, wartime restitution is traditionally paid over many years. It is fundamentally designed to force the vanquished nation to remain weak and underpowered for a long period."

I nodded. "So, what if you didn't agree to a set amount, but rather the longer it takes to pay, the more you hand over?"

Aedan looked at William. "What are you getting at?"

I sighed. "How much are they asking for?" I retorted pointedly.

"They are holding firm at one hundred thousand Imperials."

I blinked. No wonder Aedan was annoyed. "Wow. That's ambitious. Imperials, that's their gold coin, right?"

I got two nods.

"Right, so offer, I don't know, five thousand if you can pay it now, or ten thousand if you can pay it by this time next year. Increment it by five thousand a year until their full amount is reached. And then in return for concessions we need, offer to increase the total amount if we take longer to pay."

"Kathryn, we don't have five thousand now. We won't have five thousand for years. We would be going backwards every year, owing more and more. That sort of agreement would impoverish Ferelden for generations, if not forever."

"Yes, but would they go for something like that?"

"Of course they would! It would ensure that in a couple of years they could march over the Frostbacks and overrun us with an army equipped and financed by our own coin!"

I grinned at him. "But if I could get you five thousand now," I suggested, "we could get much needed concessions without having to cost Alistair a single copper coin. By paying off the debt at a much earlier time."

Aedan blinked. "Where would you get five thousand Imperials from?"

I shrugged. The Imperial treasury would no doubt have what I needed. But he didn't need to know that. "The Wardens here might have that sort of coin on hand, given the number stationed in Val Royeaux. I know I have enough to cover it back at Soldier's Peak, so I could borrow it from them and ship it to them once I get back."

William looked over at Aedan. "My Lord Aedan, I believe that could well work. It would certainly enable us to turn the results of these negotiations to our favour."

Aedan pursed his lips. "I can't imagine many situations where suddenly having a chest of gold would not be in your favour. But that will only work if Kathryn can secure the loan. The Wardens here don't know that she's alive. And then there's the fact that King Alistair would owe Kathryn an enormous debt."

"Let me worry about that," I said. "Raise the suggestion in your next session with the Orlesians. Wring every concession you can from them at the expense of future payments you won't need to make. But don't finalise the agreement until I show you the coin."

Before he could answer, the door handle turned. By the time it swung open, both Connor and I were back to our animal forms; mouse and dog.

It was Teagan. He looked at me, not noticing his nephew. "We've been invited to a soirée by one of the Empress' allies."

I shimmered back to an elf. "A what?"

"A party," he clarified, sighing at my ignorance. "It's tomorrow afternoon, to be held at a mansion outside the city."

"How far away?"

He sighed. "Little more than an hour or so on horseback. But it will take half a day for a carriage to ride there and back."

"Does the route have multiple places for an ambush?"

Teagan actually gave a small smile at that. "Funny you should ask."

Aedan raised an eyebrow. "Can we decline the invitation? We are in the midst of fairly important negotiations."

Teagan shook his head. "Ordinarily, yes, we could do so without losing face. But for some reason, our Orlesian counterparts are guests at the soirée as well."

"How convenient," I mused. "Will you be attacked on the way there or after you leave?"

Aedan snorted. "Oh, on the way back to the city, I'm sure. There will be too many witnesses during the day."

I grinned at him. "Well then, let's get to planning. Exactly who is throwing this shindig, and does he have any valuables he'd miss?"

o_ooo000ooo_o


	31. Financial Warfare - Warden Style

disclaimer type=standard

Anything you recognise is Bioware's. I daresay anything else belongs to them too.

/disclaimer

o_ooo000ooo_o

Leliana blinked. "Do you mean," she began before shaking her head. "No, the timing is wrong."

Kathryn grinned at her. "I take it you are referring to de Montfort's ill-fated hunting event? Yes, that particular party took place half a year later. Your dress was very pretty, by the way."

"You were there? Really?"

"No," the mage replied with a smirk.

Leliana scowled. "You do not need to make fun of me."

The elf nudged her friend with her shoulder. "Oh come on, don't be so serious. No, I wasn't personally present at Prosper's end, but I heard all about it from a few different people who were."

Cassandra frowned. "Who?"

"Teagan for one. After the success he and Aedan in Orlais, Alistair made him his go-to man for Orlesian events. And Varric enjoyed relating the tale; getting that dwarf to shut up is a trick. And Tallis gave me some perspective the other two lacked."

"You've met Tallis?" Cassandra and Leliana blurted in unison.

"Briefly."

Cassandra shared a glance with Leliana. "Do you know where she is? She has proven elusive, even to us."

Kathryn nodded. "Yes, I left her at Soldier's Peak."

Leliana looked surprised. "Did you recruit her into the Wardens?"

"That's later in my tale. Do you want me to continue?"

Cassandra narrowed her eyes. "In a moment. What cause did she have to visit Soldier's Peak?"

"Her idiotic interpretation of the Qun. She was trying to assassinate one of my Wardens."

Cassandra crossed her arms. "The Sten?"

"Who else?"

"You recruited Sten?" Leliana gasped.

"A Sten," Kathryn replied with a shake of her head. "Not our Sten."

Cassandra hadn't moved. "Is 'leaving her there' a euphemism for something more sinister?"

The elf sighed. "You're really no fun any more. Yes, I killed her."

"Of course you did," Cassandra said, rubbing her forehead.

Kathryn poked her tongue out at the Seeker. "Afterwards, I sent an insulting letter to the Arishok for sending her. Can we get back to the party? It's a lot more interesting than an idiotic elf with self-worth issues."

o_ooo000ooo_o

Travelling in a luxurious, Imperial carriage in glorious weather across the almost manicured landscape surrounding Val Royeaux should be one of the more relaxing experiences of your life.

But the chance of being attacked at any moment kept me on edge.

Still, even in the monochromatic vision of a dog, the view was wonderful. If nothing else, the serf class kept the place well-tended. Aedan and Teagan mostly ignored the scenery however, preferring to spend the time discussing the excruciating minutiae of the treaty negotiations. Shadow and I trotted alongside the carriage, our senses alert for any hint of danger. Pickering sat next to the Orlesian driver, trying to learn the art of controlling four horses just by observation.

We had been assigned an honour guard of ten brightly armoured soldiers who all looked impressive on identical horses. Looks were deceiving of course; it would take a stunning lack of observation skills not to notice that they were green recruits fresh from the parade ground.

I wondered how long they'd stick around once blades were drawn. It was an article of faith among the ennobled among us that we'd be ambushed on our return leg. I was the only one who suspected that we might be attacked on our way there. My suspicions turned out to be incorrect.

The soiree was expected to last well into the evening, meaning that the only light on our way back would be from the lanterns attached to the side of the carriage.

They'd serve well as lures after nightfall, I was certain.

Our destination was an impressive building; the summer residence of the Marquise of Salmont. It was a large mansion built upon a gentle rise with marble-sheathed sweeping wings. It overlooked peacock-dotted, manicured lawns larger than many of my arling's farms.

Fereldan castles were, almost exclusively, utilitarian buildings focusing on defence. They were usually oddly shaped due to being designed to take full advantage of the irregular terrain upon which they were built. Salmont's residence was a building whose construction forced the geography around it to conform to its wishes. It was meant to unsubtly shout the owners' wealth and prestige to the world.

As we drew closer we could see cloth pavilions with fluttering pennants dotting the intimately tended lawns. Uniformed servants bustled about, carrying, filling, and apologising. Groups of ladies strolled about the gardens, their lace fans fluttering. Discretely chaperoned couples wandered among the peacocks, sometimes hand-in-hand, sometimes with no contact at all.

Aedan and Teagan were officially welcomed as the coach drew to a halt. Shadow and I were noted in passing, as if the presence of two war hounds was of no import. I suppose that Ferelden barbarians could not ever be seen without our dogs. Such stereotypes suited me.

As a hound, I was under far less scrutiny than the human members of the delegation. I was rather looking forward to wandering around and helping myself to whatever valuables were not nailed down.

This was going to be fun.

o_ooo000ooo_o

Cassandra rolled her eyes. "Fun she says," the Seeker grumbled. "Can we dispense with the tedious justifications for your actions and continue?"

The shameless elf flashed the Seeker an unrepentant grin, but resumed her tale without comment.

o_ooo000ooo_o

The next three hours were filled with intense, concentrated fun. Just after the sun had set, we hurtled away from the mansion, the carriage rocking wildly in our haste. We were on our way back to the capital well ahead of schedule, since our visit had been cut dramatically short.

Aedan and Pickering drove, struggling to keep the carriage on the road. Teagan, Shadow and I braced ourselves within. Shadow in particular had trouble as he slid around on the polished wooden floor to the sound of scraping claws and confused whines.

I pushed my sack of liberated goodies into one corner. "On the positive side," I said aloud, feeling uncomfortably defensive, "we're probably in less danger of being ambushed on our way back now. The early end to the party would probably catch out anyone with orders to attack us at a specific time. And everyone for miles will be coming to watch the show." I winced as we hit a bump and were jolted up off our seats.

The hatch lid on the sideboard flipped open and some bottles clinked. I looked inside, noting that one dark bottle had fractured and was frothing through the crack near the cork.

Teagan took a firm grip of the window frame and bravely stuck his head out of the carriage. He looked back at the enormous mansion – one wing entirely engulfed in flames and hundreds of people panicking, screaming and running about on the lawns. I thought the bright fire illuminated the surrounding lands quite prettily. After a few seconds, he returned to his seat. "I have… no words," he mumbled, shaking his head.

Shadow shuffled forward in the rocking carriage and licked the back of Teagan's hand.

I pulled the almost-open bottle out and wordlessly offered it to him. He gave me a look. I shrugged and pushed the cork out myself. It popped, and fizz overflowed. Shadow looked at the foamy substance curiously as I licked it from my fingers.

"I wouldn't," Teagan warned the mabari.

A thumping on the outside of the carriage drew my attention. "Kathryn!" Aedan called.

I stood a little unsteadily and pushed back the velvet covering of the hole in the roof of the carriage. I stuck my head through and looked at the pair. He and Pickering seemed to have everything under control. At least, as under control as two men could have a team of four horses running at a gallop in twilight along a bumpy road.

"Champagne?" I asked, offering them the foaming bottle.

Pickering snorted into his hand. Aedan glared at me. "We're in the middle of a chase, Kathryn!"

I looked at the bottle. "You're right. Something red."

"Focus Kathryn! We need help, not wine!"

"What help could I possibly give you?" I asked, tossing the probably priceless bottle out into the night.

Pickering cursed inventively as he swerved to avoid a pothole. The gloom and flickering shadows made the path ahead look quite eerie. "Can you magic us some light?" he begged. "Like you did when we left the Circle that time?"

I swallowed at the memory. "Yes, but you didn't have a mage with you when you arrived," I pointed out. "If someone sees us leaving in a cloud of magical sprites, it's probably going to make some people suspicious about the cause of that fire back there."

"I think there's probably going to be some questions asked about it anyway, Kathryn," Aedan snapped, forcibly pulling the reins from Pickering and directing the galloping horses around a curve.

I grunted as I was shoved into the side of the carriage by the sudden change in direction. "They can't prove a mage started the fire. Look, just slow down. No one's chasing us."

"Are you sure?" he demanded. "Because without our honour guard, we're pretty exposed."

"Aedan, those boys were never going to be of any use," I pointed out. "They practically wet themselves when they were ordered to help evacuate the mansion. Anyway, I promise you that if we're attacked, I won't leave witnesses. I promise I won't even leave enough for anyone curious to identify the bodies."

He hissed in frustration, but pulled back on the reins. "Fine. Tell me all this was worth what you found."

"All this was worth what I found," I replied, deadpan.

Pickering gave an aborted snort.

"I wish I could believe that," Aedan muttered, looking down at his clothes. The puffy sleeves were torn, several buttons were missing and I could see the colourful fabric marked with soot even in the dim light.

"Me too," I said. "There was nothing of value I could find."

Both men turned to gape at me. "What?" they blurted in unison.

"I grabbed a bunch of documents, but they were all in Orlesian. I don't read it quickly enough to make out what was important, so I grabbed the lot. It all looked important though."

"Why would you steal documents?" Pickering asked.

"Because they were under more security than Rendon Howe's silver," I retorted. "I figured anything protected by magical barriers, locks and traps was probably worth something, even if it was just reading material."

Aedan glared at me, aghast. "I assumed you invited yourself along because you were going to steal _gold_ or, or, _jewels_ or, or _something_! Anything that we could turn into the Imperials we need. I even had a speech prepared for when we were searched where I plausibly denied knowing anything about your adventures."

I tried shrugging, but it was hard to do with your hands holding the sides of a hole you were sticking your head through. "That was my intention, yes. But seriously, for all the trappings of wealth in that place, there wasn't a lot in the way of actual valuables. Most of it was around the necks, wrists and fingers of the guests."

Pickering snickered. I noted that his pockets had oddly shaped bulges; they were probably filled with several items skilfully taken from the panicking guests.

"The Marquise of Salmont is one of the wealthiest nobles in Orlais," Aedan insisted.

"Well, either she hides her riches really well, or she's on the verge of bankruptcy."

Aedan looked past me and winced. "Damn it."

I turned my head. Even from this distance I could clearly see that the fire had spread to the other wing of the Marquise's home. "Whoops! I mean, oh dear, what a shame."

Aedan glared at me. "Did you have to set fire to the place?"

"Of course not."

"Then why d-"

"It was entirely voluntary."

"Kathryn," he whined over Pickering's muffled amusement. I wondered just how many ways I could get him to say my name.

"What? Technically it wasn't even me who actually started the fire. Some idiot tried to brain me with a lit torch and hit a tapestry when I dodged."

He half turned and gave me an appraising look. Just like his brother, he proved far too shrewd. "Okay, you didn't start it... Did you have anything to do with how fast it spread?"

I coughed, and decided to try and change the subject. "I didn't realise that tapestries would go up so quickly and anyway, it's not like you or Teagan are going to be blamed. You're a hero. Everyone saw how you saved that Comtesse. She seemed rather pleased with you too."

"Her husband wasn't," Pickering offered over his shoulder with a grin large enough to be visible even in the low light.

"Shush! Stop encouraging her," Aedan snapped at him before turning back to me. "And don't change the subject!"

I grinned at him. "Do you think that the Comte was so grumpy because he was shown to be a coward or because you got the sort of searing kiss from his wife that he hasn't experienced in twenty years?"

Aedan coughed and unconsciously wiped his mouth with a sooty sleeve. "Her emotions got the better of her; that was all."

"If Alfstanna had been there, she'd have gutted her," I teased.

He pointed at me, his hand trembling with righteous indignation. "You will _never, ever_ mention the events of this night to my bride," Aedan snapped. "I mean it."

"Hmm, having blackmail material on a Teyrn sounds profitable," I teased.

He glared at me before turning back to the road ahead. "If you want to do something productive, take Shadow and scout ahead. He doesn't sound as though he's enjoying the ride, and if there is anyone out there, we're terribly exposed."

* * *

><p>There were people out there; people with less than savoury motives. Fortunately, the sight of an expensive building merrily burning off in the distance drew a few of the less cautious from their otherwise neat hiding spots. It made spotting them much easier.<p>

Whenever we found a group, I raised my muzzle and howled to warn Pickering to stop. I then made liberal use of the basic Keeper spells Velanna had taught me, turning the flora and fauna against the ambushers without them seeing me. The spell effects were distracting more than deadly, but having the landscape suddenly come writhing to life around you in near darkness was bad for unit discipline and bladder control.

Two howls was the signal that it was safe to continue. It was easier to sneak past confused, panicking and fleeing individuals than a united squad. Shadow seemed a bit disconsolate that he didn't get a chance to chase down the terrorized men as they bolted from the living landscape. We loped a half mile or so ahead of the carriage; still within earshot and close enough that we could return swiftly if needed.

It wasn't needed. We found the danger ourselves.

Our ears and noses detected several individuals lying in a ditch on the side of the road, about twenty yards or so before a blind bend. Around the bend we could hear several voices muttering in Orlesian. I could hear several more on the other side of the road, hidden in the dense foliage.

Shadow looked at me, his hackled raised. His enormous teeth and midnight-black coat gave him a demonic air at night.

I raised my head and howled a warning before lying down on the road. I returned to my elf form still on my stomach. "Go back," I whispered at Shadow.

He growled, deep and low at me, clearly disagreeing.

I rolled my eyes. "Fine. Well then, stay back." I glanced back along the road. We'd just crested and descended a small rise; it was a good site for an ambush. The small hill prevented anyone on the other side from seeing the ambush site until very close. It also covered me from the noble eyes following us. So long as the carriage stayed back there, they wouldn't see me take care of things.

Oghren once told me that the better you get with swinging a hammer, the more every problem starts to look like a nail. I could launch a magical attack that, in all probability, would have destroyed the ambush. But I was not wearing armour, and a stray crossbow bolt had the potential to make my night very, very short.

Or, I could use another ability to smash this nail.

I struggled out of my robe, a difficult chore when lying on your stomach. Once I was naked, I cast the shapeshifting spell.

It was glorious to assume my archdemon form once again. My long serpentine neck was perfect for angling my head to deal a long sustained blast of fire into the middle of the ambusher nests on either side of the road.

The screams did not last long.

They did however last long enough to draw attention from the group around the blind bend. A few dozen men armed with crossbows charged around the corner only to recoil in terror at the sight of a gigantic dragon illuminated by burning foliage on either side.

I charged at them, around the bend.

To my immense amusement, several of the fleeing ambushers got their clothes caught up on the sharpened stakes along the temporary barrier they'd erected across the road. The sprier individuals among them had managed to clear it in a single bound, but even the fleetest were anable to flee a glob of fiery draconic sputum.

With uneven ground to cover and an enemy that looked down on them from thirty feet, not a single man managed to flee the effective range of my breath. After a few moments of scanning the nearby countryside, I concluded that I'd eliminated the entire force. With eyes the size of serving platters, night was like a heavily overcast day to me.

As an afterthought, I backhanded the barrier. The wooden structure, sturdy enough to stop a runaway carriage, scattered under my strike like a flimsy model.

I shimmered back to my elf form, feeling even more diminutive than usual. The cool night air gave my skin goosebumps.

Startled curses from back along the road drew my attention. Fortunately, the carriage was still behind the blind bend – my change of form had not been spotted. Unfortunately, my clothes were back there on the road.

I really needed my archdemon armour back. Without some scales or wing membrane to attach to my clothes, I couldn't wear them and change to my draconic form.

I shimmered back into my mabari form to return to my companions. I loped around the bend, quickly closing the distance between us.

The carriage had reached the bottom of the small hill. Aedan and Pickering jumped down from the driver's seat as I reached my clothes. "Merciful Maker," he wheezed, staring at the stretches of burning foliage on either side of the road.

Shadow slithered back to him, crawling so low his belly was practically dragging along the ground. He whined and shivered.

I shifted back to my elf form and snatched up my clothes. Aedan and Pickering both spun around to face away from me, coughing and apologising profusely.

I started dressing. "You were supposed to wait for two howls before continuing on," I snapped.

"We heard the screams and saw the landscape just light up," Aedan justified, still looking away. "Then the ground started shaking. We thought if you were doing so much magic, we should aid you."

"How insulting. Do you think I want you putting yourself in danger?" I asked, hypocritically feeling rather satisfied that he'd done so. I looked down at his feet. "Shadow wants your attention," I noted.

"What is it, boy?" Aedan asked, suddenly more worried about his hound than the fact that two score of ambushers were merrily burning around him. Shadow yelped and whined, looking as though he was trying to decide if running or staying behind his master would be less terrifying.

"I think I gave him a fright," I said easily. "You can turn around now."

They turned, and breathed a sigh of relief on seeing I was dressed. Teagan staggered out of the carriage, gaping at the fires burning on either side of the road. "Maker's breath! What happened here?" he asked.

"There are – were – ambushers there, and there," I said, gesturing to each side. "From the way they were arrayed I concluded that they were going to let us pass, and then block us from running once we hit the barricade around the corner."

"There's more around the corner?"

I shook my head happily. "Not any more."

"I told you she wasn't exaggerating, my lord," Pickering said to Aedan.

Aedan put a hand to his head. "I need a drink."

"I offered," I reminded him.

* * *

><p>The rest of the trip was much less exciting. Shadow wanted nothing to do with me, so I was obliged to scout ahead myself. Still, we made it back to Val Royeaux without having to resort to setting any more of the countryside alight.<p>

It was quite difficult to tell who knew about the ambush. The only surprise the servants showed was that we'd returned so early. A couple of the minor nobles looked a bit put out that we had returned hale and whole, if a bit sooty.

I left Aedan and Teagan to their devices and wandered back to the apartments. William was still up, immaculately dressed and a cup of piping tea in his hand. He delicately placed the china cup back on its saucer, daubed his upper lip and moustache with a napkin, and rose to his feet.

"Your early return is encouraging, Arlessa Kathryn," he said to my doggy form. "I trust all members of the entourage are in a similarly unharmed state."

I shimmered back. "Yes, though Shadow is a bit scared of me now. He watched me turn an ambush of fifty or so soldiers into a pile of cinders and took fright."

William paled slightly. He managed a weak, "I am not surprised."

"Oh, I have something for you." I pulled out the sack I used when transporting things while shifted into another form. It had taken me a few hours to get it clean after carrying three heads in it, but it was now perfectly suitable to carry around several small wooden boxes full of vellum and parchment. "This is everything that was secured in the vault at Salmont's house. As it wasn't gold, I was quite intrigued as to what could be so valuable about it. So here it is."

"The treaty negotiations are my first priority, Arlessa Kathryn."

"They might be delayed somewhat. Until some more people are appointed for you to verbally fence with. Many of your counterparts succumbed to the most incredible bad luck."

"Oh?" he said neutrally.

I nodded mournfully. "Yes. They were all in a room at Salmont's party plotting and scheming when the place broke out in flames and they were overcome by smoke. Someone had incautiously locked the door from the inside, which made rescuing them difficult."

"Ah," he said tactfully. "I take it their misfortune had some assistance?"

"I refuse to answer on the grounds that I can't be bothered to make up a believable lie. While you wait for the Empress to decide who will take over for them, I'd like you to review all this to see what was so damned important."

William sighed as he looked at the scale of the task before him.

"Not to worry," I said. "I've got an assistant for you."

He looked up at me serenely. "Young Master Connor, I take it?"

I wrinkled my nose at him. "You're not as fun as people who are surprised when I spring things on them."

He appeared pleased with that. "Despite my name, Arlessa Kathryn, I have never felt the need to lark about. Life is serious."

"I'll make you smile yet," I said with a grin. "In the meantime, I'll send Connor around to help. He's fluent in Orlesian."

"Thank you, Arlessa Kathryn."

Connor was a little dejected when told that he was going to be spending the foreseeable future going over a pile of documents instead of exploring the palace. He gave me an ungracious look as I put on my fur coat and went to bed in front of the fireplace. It had been a long day.

Connor's mood changed dramatically in the next few hours. I was pulled from my slumber in the early hours of the morning by the breathless teen.

"You're not going to believe this!" he said, his excitement evident even in his husky whisper.

"Probably not," I replied around a yawn. "Try me."

"William thinks that the Orlesians really need to go to war with us."

I rubbed sleep from my eyes. "Need? Or Want?"

"Need. Actually, it's only some of the noble families that need the war. But collectively they have a lot of influence."

I blinked as the import of what he said struck. "What in Andraste's name is in those documents?"

Connor actually rubbed his hands together. "Invoices. Accounts. Contracts. And it's not surprising that there were so many ambushes set for you."

"Lay it out for me," I ordered. "I'm not going to be able to guess."

Lay it out for me he did. The Marquise of Salmont was in trouble. She had wagered heavily on the invasion of Ferelden being successful. A lot of her gold had been put into financing the army, and in return Celene had pledged to her control of quite a lot of Ferelden; most of the Bannorn, and quite a bit of Fergus' teyrnir. Including, most offensively, my entire arling.

But the Marquise was in trouble with what Connor described as 'promises'. Promises to supply things. Not just things for the army, but to merchant organisations in just about every country along the north coast of the Waking Sea.

Some of the promises were made only in her name. However, the sheer scope of the scheme precluded one individual from running it solo. Over two thirds of the agreements were made in conjunction with other Orlesian nobles as co-suppliers.

I never thought I'd even want Woolsey nearby, but she'd be able to make sense of it in a heartbeat. Salmont had 'promised' to supply people and organisations with food for the next several decades at a set price. Food that would have to come from Ferelden. But without the ready gold to secure such lucrative agreements, she had pledged some of her own land assets as collateral should she not make good on the deal.

But from what Connor and William could make out, she and her fellow syndicate members had given the same land as security to many different creditors.

Had the invasion of Ferelden been successful, she and her friends would have been swimming in gold for the next generation or so. She would effectively become part-owner of a good third of Ferelden, without the pesky requirement to spend her money maintaining it. She would have the income of a teryn and no need to pay tax.

The people of Ferelden would be little more than starving wretches. I knew enough about the farming capabilities of my arling to know that in order to fulfil the promises she'd made, the Marquise would need to confiscate at least four-fifths of the output of the land. Probably more.

So she needed the invasion to happen. She needed the negotiations to fail.

She needed Aedan or Teagan to die. Or both.

* * *

><p>"This is a big problem," Aedan said as he paced up and down the length of our apartment. "There is no way the Marquise and her syndicate would allow the treaty between Ferelden and Orlais to be signed. No matter what restitution we offered."<p>

I still snarled at the idea that Ferelden needed to pay restitution for being invaded. It was only my sound-cancelling barrier that gave us the freedom to speak about this in such an open way. "Maybe they need to start having accidents."

William winced, and Teagan gasped, but Aedan glared at me. "Any more accidents and even the most naïve would become suspicious of us. Our purpose is to broker a peace agreement, Kathryn, not start butchering Orlesian nobles."

"Would the former not follow the latter?"

"No! It would just plunge us into so much suspicion that we could not function! I told you before we arrived that I would not permit you to do anything that would destabilise these negotiations!"

I frowned. "Exactly what are the negotiations accomplishing at this point? We know now that the restitution demands have been made specifically to prevent an agreement from being reached. You can sit behind your need to perform your duty all you like, but it doesn't change reality."

"If I may," William interjected calmly, "I believe drawing out the negotiations may in fact work in our favour."

I frowned. "What do you mean?"

Aedan gave him a sour look. "He means that the longer we take, the shriller Salmont and her cronies will become. They will fail to supply the first tranche of their promises if Orlais delays too much longer in occupying Ferelden. If the invasion does not happen before winter, it will be months before it could feasibly happen again. They would miss the next season's harvest."

"Wouldn't it also put you in more danger?"

Teagan chuckled. "Quite so. As invigorating as last night's adventures were, I much prefer the comparatively safer environment of a Landsmeet."

"I killed Ser Cauthrien and half a dozen soldiers at my first Landsmeet before I blasted Loghain into submission," I pointed out. "They're not all that safe."

Teagan and Aedan shared a pained look. "Outliers exist, I'll grant you," Aedan said. "But most are not that exciting."

From their expressions, I deduced that this was one of those 'mistakes' that Zevran told me I kept making. The ones that everyone didn't tell me I was wrong.

"In any event, we must decide how to proceed," the voice of reason said.

"What do you suggest, William?" Teagan asked.

The fussy little man tapped one of the piles of document in front of him. "The significant pressure for war can be counterbalanced. Traditionally, this is done by raising the costs of war – both in fiduciary and manpower terms. If Ferelden was to make the cost of the invasion too high for the Empress, no amount of pressure would persuade her to restart the war."

I rubbed my bald head as the men debated the best way forward. Whenever I hear the word 'traditionally', I always went looking for the untraditional. Raising the cost of the invasion was Alistair's job. I'd had a great deal of success during the Blight by taking the resources of others and making them my own.

But it occurred to me that you could indirectly raise the cost of an invasion not just by reducing the ability to pay for it, but by increasing the importance of spending coin elsewhere.

A thought occurred; one that brought a grin to my face. Celene was all about appearances. She needed to show how strong she was. Maintaining her lofty position was more important to her than just about anything. Including enriching her nobles.

"Excuse me, gentlemen," I interrupted, rising to my feet. "Could I borrow Pickering? I'll take him and Connor for a walk while you work out our best strategy."

* * *

><p>Both my boys were enthusiastic for my plan, once I'd spelled it out. I glossed over some of the details with Pick; he didn't need to know exactly how deep under the bedrock we'd be going.<p>

Pickering had learned from Zevran well. Dressed in dark greens and greys, the self-proclaimed gutter rat from Tanner's Lane had developed remarkable stealth skills. In the time since I'd spotted him in a Denerim mess hall, he had studied with one of the most skilled killers in Thedas, he'd stalked demons in the Fade, fought assassins and templars both, and he'd moved undetected through Orlesian military camps and assassinated its officers.

He was developing nicely into a very dangerous individual. I was sorely tempted to just recruit him and deal with Alistair's attitude later.

While Connor and I had an unfair advantage over him when it came to stealth, he still drifted past guards as silent as a shadow. In my experience, it was the guards at the front door who were the alert ones. Once you got past that, they tended towards apathy.

Remaining alert while standing guard for twelve hours at night would test even the strong-willed individual. We passed more than one who'd mastered the art of sleeping while standing up, though most of them only managed it by leaning against a handy wall.

With the ability to send two mice ahead to scout, or scurry under doors to unlock from the other side, we were unstoppable on our way down into the bowels of the Imperial Palace. Of course, it helped immeasurably that we were actually inside the palace to begin with.

The secure wing of the Imperial Palace was built deep into bedrock. There was evidence of dwarvern excavation techniques on the walls – polish smooth with waves of different coloured strata.

The guards around the Imperial Treasury were somewhat more alert than usual. While Pick waited back a ways, Connor and I scurried about and observed them for a couple of hours; I planned out the best route to take. Guards with epaulettes patrolled the area at irregular intervals, keeping everyone on their toes.

There was even a pair of mages on duty in the guardroom. They'd need to be neutralised first.

We were systematic about it. We regrouped, and moved with conviction. Connor and I resumed our forms and cast a pair of spells from just outside the door of the guardroom. He cast a spell of sleep, which caught most of the inhabitants. I tossed the mage-killer spell I'd stolen from Irving's study, which caught the two mages.

They didn't even get a chance to scream.

Pickering rushed through first and set about smashing each guard over the head with a rock. Connor joined in, seeming to light up. It was a sight that disturbed me, but not one I could spare the time to deal with.

We wasted no time in moving on. The alarm would be raised soon, no matter how silent we were.

Still, we could delay that by killing each guard we came across. Instead of weapons that left distinctive wounds, we stunned, paralysed or incapacitated and then brained with a rock.

The treasury itself was split into several sections, each designed to securely hold different valuables. One coin vault had relatively light security and was clearly used to store money earmarked for operational expenses, if the log book of visitors and transactions was anything to go by. I didn't get too much blood on the pages, but I nicked it anyway. It might have useful information.

I swept an armful of gold and silver into my bag before shifting back into a mouse and moving on.

While Connor and Pickering pro-actively hunted down the patrolling guards, I squeezed under doors and through cracks into the vaults. There was surprisingly little gold, but there was a lot of artwork was stored here, I pocketed a few of the smaller pieces crafted from precious metals or jewels.

One vault had three guards. I discovered they were unsuccessfully guarding a jewellery box the size of a house. Rings, bracelets, tiaras and necklaces were all laid out in cases of lacquered cherry-wood and mahogany.

An enormous diamond, sapphire and purple velvet crown took centre stage on a silver stand. I couldn't help myself. Despite the iconic crown being embossed upon each and every Orlesian gold Imperial coin in existence, it went into my bag. I snaffled the rest of the set as well; the earrings would suit my colouring nicely. And I could use the sceptre as a mace in a pinch.

Since jewellery was, weight for weight, far more valuable than most things, I spent quite some time picking up the best of the lot. As this was the Imperial treasury, there was a lot of 'best'.

Eventually, some truncated shouts of alarm echoed throughout the passages. Despite not having grabbed even a tenth of the wealth down here, I grabbed my co-conspirators and we scurried away. Both boys fairly clinked as they walked, proving that they had taken the opportunity to inflict some much needed economic warfare of their own upon the Empress.

Once we were at the point where the corridor descended into bedrock, I stopped. With my magic enhanced by staff and spell, I called forth the most powerful earthquake I could muster, centred deep below the vaults we'd just visited. As I told Fergus months back, the spell could bring down walls in a jiffy, but the noise and excitement was just beginning.

o_ooo000ooo_o

"You created the earthquake?" Gaylen blurted.

Kathryn shrugged modestly. "Yep."

Gaylen shook his head. "But… we were commissioned to examine it. It had to be natural."

Kathryn looked blankly at the man. "I'm sorry, you were what?" she snapped.

Gaylen shrank back, glancing at Cassandra for reassurance. At her nod he cleared his throat. "Um, there were some suspicions that the earthquake could have been magical in origin. I was part of a three mage committee from the Val Royeaux Circle that determined that it was far too powerful to have been cast by a mage."

"Really? Wouldn't a real earthquake do a lot more damage over a wider area?"

Gaylen swallowed. "Yes. But as localised as the earthquake was, it was far more powerful than any mage could produce. Any group of mages too."

"I've always had an affinity for the elements. An earthquake spell on open soil makes it difficult for your enemies to keep their feet. The same spell cast on bedrock will bring a building down. Cast that spell well below the bedrock though…"

Gaylen almost quivered. "Just how powerful are you?"

Leliana laughed like a bell. "I have yet to hear a story of her exploits that I did not believe."

"Um, okay."

Kathryn gave him a smile. "Relax Gaylen. The dwarfs know more about earthquakes than all the Circles put together. Dagna and I were once talking about the difference between a real earthquake and the spell that mimics one. I didn't just cast the spell on top of the bedrock, I targeted an area as deep down into the rock as I could. That makes all the difference."

Cassandra filled her wine glass again. "I had assumed you used your mouse form to scout out and steal the Imperial Coronation Jewels at some time after the earthquake."

The elf snorted. "Nope. Uncountable people scoured the site after we robbed the treasury. More than a hundred were hanged during the efforts to clear the debris for supposedly stealing the valuables beneath the rubble."

"That didn't stop the reckless and desperate from attempting it," Leliana said sadly.

Kathryn shrugged. "True. At any rate, the adventure was a success. The bodies of the guards they pulled out were found without wounds made by weapons, and with all the thieves doing their damnedest to take the score of a lifetime, no one suspected the Ferelden contingent.

Cassandra sighed and sipped her wine. "And then the peace treaty was signed."

The elf gave her a sour look. "It wasn't quite so simple. True, Celene felt that having a partially ruined palace didn't lend her the level of gravitas she had come to expect. And yes, she ordered most of the engineers in the army back to Val Royeaux and diverted funds to repairing the building. But with tons of rubble on top of the gold, many people were nervous that they wouldn't be paid on time. Suddenly, the offer of gold from Aedan looked a lot more attractive."

o_ooo000ooo_o

Teagan absently scratched my ears, and I discovered just why Thunder was so keen for it.

Aedan scratched Shadow's too, nodding in appreciation at the chaos. "Half the Imperial Palace is uninhabitable," he said.

Teagan hummed an agreement. "Mmhmm. I am pleasantly surprised that our apartments were not too badly affected."

That was true. Even in the parts of the palace still standing, many marble statues were lying in boxes, their pieces collected by weeping curators. Portraits had fallen, arimores had tipped, windows had cracked and shattered.

Glaziers throughout Val Royeaux were ebullient in their thanks to the Maker for their luck. I mentally wished them luck, but I really needed to go and visit Oghren.

* * *

><p>I got a number of odd looks as I left the Palace compound with a rolled note held in my teeth. A number of the guards appeared to consider the merits of stopping me and examining vellum roll, but a deep growl instilled some caution among those who approached me.<p>

I trotted through Val Royeaux towards the Grey Warden compound. I dodged some persistent tails along the way before arriving at the front gate. The guard on duty noted my presence but didn't move.

I gave a muffled whuff past the note in my mouth.

He ignored me.

I sat down and stared at him.

He shifted a bit.

I didn't move.

He cleared his throat and asked in Orlesian, "Is that letter for the Wardens?"

Remembering Oghren's introduction of me to Stroud, where he said that I didn't understand the local language, I looked pointedly at the door before returning my gaze to him.

He reached down to take the note from my mouth. I growled, deep and long.

He drew back quickly. After a tense moment he pointed at the door and said, "You need to give it to me. I'll take it in."

I stared at him, unmoving.

He scratched at his neck uncertainly, but came to a decision. He rapped a couple of times on the main door. A moment later a slot was pulled back and a pair of eyes glanced out at him.

A quick conversation took place, and the door opened. A female warrior looked me over. "Is your letter for Oghren Kondrat?" she asked in heavily accented Ferelden.

I gave another muffled whuff of agreement and rose to my feet.

She gave a soft chuckle and opened the door. "This is Oghren's hound," she explained in Orlesian to the guard. "She doesn't understand us when we do not speak the Ferelden tongue."

"Truly?"

I gave the guard a tail wag before trotting through the door.

"Oghren is this way," the woman said, pointing towards the central square where the Wardens trained.

She led me there. A score or so of onlookers watched as Oghren led half a dozen Wardens in attacking padded wooden dummies with two-handed axes. My friend critiqued their techniques as he went. One chap got it exactly right, and managed to lop off his dummy's head in one swipe, cleaving through eight inches of wood. The assembled crowd cheered. I fought back the urge to join in. It was a very impressive strike.

"Oghren! You have a visitor!"

My friend turned and grinned when he spotted me. "Aye, be right with ya!" He gave his group some last words of encouragement and then strolled over to me.

I wagged my tail and held the letter up.

"Cheers," he said, accepting the rolled vellum. "Wasn't expecting to get called for a while yet." He broke the seal and read the short note. Without changing expression, he said, "Okay, come on. My room is this way."

The woman who'd escorted me frowned. "Is something wrong, Brother?"

Oghren shook his head. "Nope, I just need to get something from my kit."

She accepted that, and we made our way back into the building and towards the barracks.

Oghren had a room to himself rather than a bunk in the barracks, in deference to his Warden rank and accomplishments. Once the door was closed I shimmered back into my elf form and dropped the heavy, bulging sack to the ground. It made a lovely metallic sound.

"Good to see you again, Kat," he said, giving me a rib-crushing hug. "How've you been?"

I returned the embrace. "I've been having fun. In the last few days I've burned down a noble's mansion and destroyed half the Imperial Palace. You?"

He groaned theatrically. "That was you? Ah, I'm an idiot, of course it was you. Sodding elf, I thought I was having a good time here. You really put having fun into perspective."

I grinned at him and opened the sack. "I got you a gift."

"I would have preferred to join in your fun," he complained.

"No doubt. But I haven't had a chance to thank you for your little interruption. It was perfect, by the way, beyond even my expectations."

He grinned. "Heh, heh, thought you'd like it."

"Well, since you went above and beyond, I figured I needed to get you an extra-special gift. Here you go," I said, presenting him with a velvet bundle. "Do you think Felsi will like it?"

He pulled back the velvet covering. His eyes bulged. "Like it? By the stones of my ancestors, she'll never take it off! That's a piece and a half and no mistake!" he said, carefully taking the enormous necklace out from the velvet. "Felsi will tie me to the bed for days when we get back. Where did you find it?"

I gave a shrug. "Oh, just lying around."

"Really?" he asked in a voice oozing disbelief.

"Yup. Honestly. It was just lying around in the Imperial Treasury where anyone could have found it."

Oghren gave a half-cough, half-laugh. "Oh that's brilliant. I'll have to keep it in the bottom of my pack until we get home, but damn me if it's not the most amazing necklace I've ever seen." He replaced it on the velvet and wrapped it again.

I grinned at the dwarvish peccadillo for ostentatious jewellery. "What do you think I should do with this then?" I asked, pulling out the crown.

Since I'd given away the fact I'd browsed the Imperial Treasury, he wasn't surprised at the sight of the crown. "Heh, we're going to have a rough time of it getting out of the country with these things in our packs."

"That and all the rest," I said, showing him the contents of the sack. It was filled almost to bursting with jewellery I'd purloined from the vaults below the palace.

He gave an appreciative whistle. "That's a lot of sparkly stuff. It's all pretty recognisable though. Anyone trying to fence those is going to have a hard time of it."

I nodded. "I know. I was wondering if you knew enough about smithing to pop the stones out and recast the metal into ingots."

He blinked. "Er, I suppose. I know the theory, but I've only ever used a forge to do basic repairs to weapons and armour."

"I just need to know if you can do it."

He shrugged. "I can give it a shot. You'll lose at least half the value though."

I snorted. "They're not worth anything if there are no buyers. And anyone trying to sell this lot will have every guardsman and footpad on his back within a minute. We can sell individual stones for a reasonable amount ere and there, but the metal in bars would be untraceable. I need to be able to change this into coin. Quickly."

He looked at me oddly. "What do you need money for? You could swim in the gold you've got back at Soldier's Peak."

"Oh, yeah, you wouldn't know. The Orlesians are demanding restitution from us."

There was a long silent moment. "Come again?" he said in disbelief.

I made a face. "That was my reaction too. Cutting through the bullshit, the Orlesians don't want a peace treaty. They demanded restitution to make the negotiations fail. If we can get a few thousand Imperials, we can trick them into signing a treaty and not cost Alistair a copper."

"Nice," he said appreciatively.

I grinned at him. "Yeah, well, we need to do something. Celene has given away our arling to the noble whose house I burned down. A lot of nobles want the invasion to go ahead. I had to give her reason to accept an offer in the face of her objecting court, so I visited her treasury and knocked half the palace down.

Oghren looked down at the sack. "So you robbed the Empress to pay her stupid demand? Apart from Chrys calling me 'Da', that is the most beautiful thing I've ever heard."

"I liked it."

He punched my shoulder. "Of course you did. Leave it with me. I'll check out the forge here to see if I can use it."

"Why wouldn't the Wardens let you use it?"

"I don't mean let me use it. I need to see if the forge they have is suitable for casting. I will probably have to go to the market tomorrow and pick up some specialised tools and some casts for the bars, but I can have the gems out of the metal tonight."

"Thanks Oghren. You got everything you need?"

"Aye. Just let me know the next time you're going to have some fun, yeah?"

o_ooo000ooo_o

AN: So sorry for the delay in this chapter. Writing about economic schemes is a difficult balance – too simple and it makes it unbelievable, too complex and the story becomes tedious to read (and write). I've given up and just posting what I had. Hope it's not too bad.

Thanks to all my reviewers. I still get a shiver when I get a review months after the last chapter was posted.


	32. Road Trip!

disclaimer=standard

Anything you recognise is Bioware's. Anything else probably belongs to them too.

/disclaimer

o_ooo000ooo_o

Cassandra groaned. "This is getting tedious."

Kathryn shrugged. "After several hours listening to glorious, nail-biting adventure, I can't imagine why you'd be bored by economic warfare."

"I am aware of the events leading up to the signing on the treaty. Teyrn Aedan's offer of three and a half thousand Imperials, increasing by twelve and a half thousand a year was accepted. The moment after the ink was on the vellum, he theatrically opened a chest of gold in front of the Empress and declared the debt paid. Many in the Empress' court found themselves out of favour, having assured her there was no possibility of him paying before the first annual increase."

Gaylen frowned. "But how? Where did you get the money? Surely you didn't steal that much from the treasury. And you couldn't have got that much from fencing so many stolen gems at once."

Cassandra frowned, first at the interruption, then at the point. "True. You didn't use the gold and silverite bars you cast out of the stolen jewellery; you said earlier that you purchased the debts of some nobles with them."

"I did," Kathryn agreed. "Oghren came through for me again. He brokered an agreement with my Orlesian counterpart. The Wardens were incandescent with fury when presented with evidence that Celene had promised the Grey Warden arling to an Orlesian noble, seeing it as an attack on the order as a whole. He used the gems he'd levered from the Imperial jewellery as collateral. In return for a fifth of the stones, he obtained a loan from the Wardens of Orlais."

"The Orlesian Wardens loaned Ferelden the coin to pay restitution?"

"No, the Orlesian Wardens loaned Oghren, and by extension, _me,_ the coin to pay Ferelden's restitution," Kathryn clarified. "And the best bit was that by doing so, it germinated the idea for the Warden's current financial power."

"As if piles of dragonbone, gold stolen from the Crows, and half the jewellery in Val Royeaux wasn't enough for you," Cassandra said sourly.

"It's not so much having the gold," Kathryn declared with faux pomposity, "as the fact that my enemies do not."

Cassandra shook her head in disgust at the poorly-disguised avarice. "Where did you go after the treaty was signed?"

Kathryn raised an eyebrow. "Who said I left straight away?"

"The fact that Val Royeaux did not suffer any further disasters," the Nevarran Seeker spat acidly.

The elf grinned, and bowed her head in satisfied acknowledgement. "A compliment disguised as an insult. Well done. But no, I did not leave Orlais immediately. There were a couple of other people I needed to visit."

Leliana looked surprised. "Who? Who did you know in Val Royeaux?"

The smile on Kathryn's face gave the three listeners shivers. "Oh, they weren't in Val Royeaux…"

o_ooo000ooo_o

Tensions were high for a few days after Aedan discharged Ferelden's short-lived restitution debt. Celene received enough gold to rebuild her palace but lost face at being out-manoeuvred by some dog-lord barbarians.

Of course, several of her nobles lost a lot more. More than they feared too, though they didn't know it yet.

It behoved the Fereldan nobles to get out of town quickly. Aedan and Teagan both agreed that remaining any longer would be dangerous. Along with Pickering and William, the nobles boarded their ship and set off back to Ferelden.

Oghren flat refused to get on the ship with Aedan and his entourage. My friend had had enough of boats for a dozen lifetimes and decided to walk home, around the western edge of the Waking Sea. A few Orlesian Wardens were getting close to their Calling, and were planning their final trip.

He elected to escort them over- and under-land to Orzammar. They'd clear what they could of the Deep Roads this side of the Thaig. I later discovered that he witnessed Bhelen marry Rica, and that he'd gifted the Imperial Crown to the glowing bride as a gift from the Fereldan Wardens. It amused me no end.

As for me, with a bundle of contracts and a young apprentice, I set off overland along the Waking Sea, towards Val Chevin. We stopped there for a few nights; specifically to visit a particular Chantry-run facility.

o_ooo000ooo_o

Cassandra sighed, and rubbed her forehead. "The penitents. That's who you visited."

"Spot on," Kathryn replied with a nod.

"Who?" Gaylen asked.

Cassandra blew out a breath through her nose. "The two priests who gave up their positions in return for deciding Kathryn Surana's fate," she said flatly. "They were sent to a convent in eastern Orlais after they resigned."

Kathryn turned to Gaylen. "In the weeks I was in the Imperial Palace, Connor and I infiltrated and devoured the Divine's personal files. We discovered not only where each of the templars who…" she swallowed, and clutched her trembling left hand with her steadier right. She took a breath and continued, "I also found where Murian and Morag were sent."

Gaylen looked nervously at the elf. "Er, did you kill them?"

"Of course she did," the two Seekers responded in unison, as they both covered their eyes with one hand.

Kathryn tilted her head to one side, evaluating the pair's response. "Interesting," she murmured, before continuing her tale.

o_ooo000ooo_o

"Are you sure about this?" Connor asked me.

I nodded without turning to look at him. In front of us was the convent where my self-appointed fate-deciders dwelt. We had memorised the best ways in and out, and were now waiting for nightfall.

"It's just, Zevran insisted that every job be done as quickly as possible, without theatrics. That by drawing out the act for revenge purposes made it far more likely that you'd be caught. And far more likely that you'd fail."

No doubt. My plans for Murian and Morag were devised drawing more from Leliana's book of tactics than Zevran's. He would definitely disapprove if he knew what I was planning. "I'm sure he did. Remind me to tell you the story of how we met."

Connor looked down. "Um, he did."

That was surprising. I finally looked at the lad. "Did he?"

"Yes. He used it as an example of an assassination that was insufficiently planned due to poor intelligence on the target."

"Well that's true enough. Did he tell you that so you wouldn't draw out the punishments you meted out to the templars?"

There was a familiar flash of rage behind his eyes. "Yes. They were too strong for me to kill in a purely martial contest, and obviously I couldn't face them as a mage. I had to kill them with my brain; quickly and cleanly."

"Bryant told me that you petrified one and pushed his head under water while he bathed. I had to fight back the urge to applaud."

The childish, bashful look was at odds with the young man's impressive kill count.

"Look," I continued, before he could respond, "I have a plan. I have a backup plan. And if the worst should happen, I'll burn the place down."

He nodded, accepting my decision but I could see the disagreement in his expression. "All right, let's go."

We shimmered into our mouse forms and scurried under the locked gates and into the building grounds.

* * *

><p>It took an hour or so to locate Murian. For someone supposedly out of favour with the Powers That Be within the Chantry, she certainly commanded enough respect to have a very luxurious room, especially when most of the other residents were sharing. I waited in the darkness until the rooms nearby were silent. Once I deemed it likely everyone nearby was asleep, I cast a few spells and prepared to terrify the woman. "Murian," I intoned in my deepest voice. My ruined vocal chords added a menacing rasp.<p>

The ex-Grand Cleric of Ferelden blinked her eyes open, and then gulped in a lungful of air in shock. Her mouth opened, and her chins trembled up and down; the second and third wobbling a bit.

"Murian," I repeated, raising my arms up to the side. "I greet thee, my executioner."

With my body under the influence of an Arcane Warrior ability that placed it partially in the Fade, I was both glowing faintly and transparent. In the light of a single candle, I looked exactly like a ghostly spirit from one of the ghost stories devoured by the rich and poor alike.

The elderly woman shrieked in terror, and hurled herself out of the far side of the bed.

Well that was entertaining. I grinned and shimmered into my mouse form.

None of the people who rushed to see what was causing the commotion noticed a mouse hiding under a desk.

It was entertaining to hear the old bitch babble about seeing an evil spirit. That part of my plan worked perfectly. As did the people responding to her scream of fright. After being consoled and calmed, Murian agreed that she must have simply had a nightmare. She was offered a cup of brandy fortified with a small amount of tea. She gulped it down.

Nearly an hour later, everyone left her room. Murian climbed back into bed, pulling the covers tightly under her chins. She blew all but one candle out and settled back down to sleep.

I waited until her breathing was rhythmic and slow before emerging. I once again cast the necessary spells to mimic a ghost and said, "Murian! Confess your crimes! The Maker commands it!"

* * *

><p>She did not get much sleep that night. Nor did anyone else within earshot of her room. After the third time I woke her, she insisted upon being guarded while she slept. I was rather hoping that I could actually have a conversation without her screaming for help. Her terror was foiling my plans. Rather than appear in front of someone else, I gritted my teeth and left her to focus my efforts on Morag.<p>

The ex-Revered Mother of Amaranthine was not made of any sterner stuff than her co-conspirator. She also screamed for help at my appearance.

Having two women with the same visions gave the priests of the convent pause. One or the other could be dismissed as anything from a bad dream to eating some stinky cheese before bed. But two...

A few hours before dawn, Mother Agnes, the priest in charge of the convent, testily summoned both women to her chambers. She demanded an explanation for the inexplicably similar visions the pair were experiencing. Sleep deprivation shortened tempers considerably.

Interestingly, neither woman admitted to the Revered Mother their role in my abduction. Their answers were evasive and rehearsed to the point of polish, leading me to conclude that they were determined to stick to a specific story to the end of time.

We'd see just how their determination would stand up.

Connor and I left just before daybreak and went back to the rooms we'd secured at an inn. We slept during the day, the noise of the city muffled by magical barriers across the door and window.

The next night, we visited the convent again, this time armed with certain concoctions refined by the Crows. Just in case.

It seemed that my appearance had terrified both ex-priests so much that they were going to sleep in the same room together while guarded by three templars. I had hoped to only show myself to the two bitches. That would have made any claims about my survival a little hard to prove. But needs must, and I changed my plans accordingly.

I cast a large petrification glyph to lock all five in place. I took a deep breath and began.

"Greetings Murian, late of Denerim," I whispered in a husky voice. "And greetings Morag, late of Amaranthine."

No petrified body could move, but their eyes darted to and fro, seeking an escape.

"You must confess your crimes, my sisters in Andraste's love. I beg of thee, confess, lest your souls wither in the Black City for eternity."

Warning delivered, I wafted out of their sight and shimmered into a mouse before the petrification spell ended.

The tandem scream split the silence of the night.

* * *

><p>This time, with three templar witnesses, the ex-priests could not deny knowing what the 'visiting spirit' wanted. Both Morag and Murian were visibly shaken at the thought of their souls not ending up at the Maker's side. I suppose when you convince yourself that you are acting in accordance with your God's wishes, discovering otherwise causes some distress.<p>

Mother Agnes once more summoned them, and once more demanded answers. With the corroborating statements from their guards, she insisted on being told what was causing the visions.

No answers were forthcoming, however. Murian and Morag were determined to stick to their script. After several long demands had gone unfulfilled, Agnes suggested that the pair confess to the Revered Mother of Val Chevin in person the next morning, and suggested that they spend the rest of the night in the chapel in prayer.

Connor and I left, prepared to return the next day.

It was not necessary.

Both women had apparently decided to hang themselves in their bedchambers before the sun rose.

o_ooo000ooo_o

Cassandra snorted derisibly. "They 'decided', did they? They were not any way assisted?"

Kathryn raised an eyebrow. "Of course they didn't 'decide' to commit suicide. They were undoubtedly assisted into their bedsheet-nooses. But it wasn't me who helped them."

Leliana's expression was one of relief, while Cassandra looked suspicious. "If not you, then who? Connor Guerrin?"

Kathryn shrugged. "No, not Connor either. Honestly, I don't know who. I just assumed that the Bitch-in-Chief had an agent among the convent's staff who was ordered to make sure they never told their story if their resolve appeared to be wavering."

Gaylen looked shocked. "But the Divine would never…" he started.

Kathryn raised a hand and indicated Leliana with one thumb. "You think? This butterfly has a sting that gets used more often than you'd believe. And Dot is one of the more moderate Divines we've had."

Gaylen's gaze fell on Leliana, who managed to keep her expression neutral. "Sometimes extreme measures are necessary," she justified.

Kathryn shrugged. "I'm not arguing."

o_ooo000ooo_o

Val Chevin had nothing else of interest, once my executioners had been executed. Connor and I left via the north gate the next day. We travelled via Cumberland before heading inland towards Nevarra – the capital city of the identically named nation. From there we headed to the Free Marches; first Tantervale and then south to Kirkwall. It took us a couple of months to reach the City of Chains, partially because we helped out the Mages Collective at each city but mainly because Connor and I tracked down every merchant on the way that'd made a deal with Salmont.

Most were hesitant to sell their agreement to buy food from the Orlesian, logically concluding that any default on her part would result in them assuming ownership of prime Orlesian real estate. They all sold however, when I presented them with evidence that they were only one of many who'd been promised the land. They'd be fighting each other in front of Orlesian magistrates.

At best, they'd get part-ownership; often with people and organisations in direct competition with them. At worst, nothing.

They all sold their agreements to me.

o_ooo000ooo_o

Gaylen frowned, and raised his hand. "Er, why did you buy all the promises? Wouldn't that put you in exactly the same position as the merchants?"

Kathryn smirked. "No. Salmont and her co-conspirators still hoped to invade Ferelden at some point. But she still needed to fill all the orders that I then owned. I contacted her agent once I got back to Amaranthine and offered to sell her and her cronies enough foodstuffs to meet their obligations."

Gaylen looked confused. "Why?"

The grin on the elf was malicious. "Because I charged her half again what she agreed to sell it for."

Gaylen blinked, then gasped as he realised what that meant. "You sold her food - food that she then sold back to you – at a loss?"

A nod. "Yup. Alistair enacted a new tax on Orlesian merchants – ostensibly to raise the funds to repay the reparations, but truthfully to make it prohibitively expensive for them to do business on Ferelden soil. Salmont's group accepted my proposal because I offered to send the food directly to their creditors, thus evading the punitive tax. In essence, she paid me to sell food to myself. I didn't even need to have the food. I just needed signed proof that it was received." Kathryn chuckled to herself. "Some of the very merchants who I had purchased the promises from came to Highever and Amaranthine to buy stock to cover what they had expected to receive from her. I made profit on profit on profit."

Cassandra shook her head. "Such an arrangement would be unsustainable."

"It was. Salmont and her cronies borrowed heavily from their usurers, hoping that they could survive financially long enough to revisit the issue of invasion. But Ferelden grew in strength faster than Orlais did. The cost of waging war on us rose too quickly over too short a time."

o_ooo000ooo_o

Connor was invaluable on the trip. He spoke Orlesian fluently, and Navarran well enough to conduct our negotiations. With plenty of food and outdoor exercise, he was turning into a strapping young man, albeit one with haunted eyes and a violent temper.

Our travels could have been boring, since we both had the ability to sneak past any bandits. However, Connor's need for quieting the demons haunting his sleep meant we actively sought out the dregs of society, making the highways of Orlais, Nevarra and the Marches safer for honest travellers.

As I'd once mentioned to Godwin, we killed them and took all their stuff.

After a few weeks of personal instruction from me, his battlemagic flourished. I also taught him the Arcane Warrior fundamentals. It was helpful for him to carry a sword in the cities we visited. A staff over your shoulder was a bit of a hint as to your profession.

* * *

><p>The approach to Kirkwall took us around the Sundermount. The closer we got to the Waking Sea, the more fertile the land was.<p>

I spotted something entirely unexpected. I crouched to examine it.

"What is that?" Connor asked.

"Halla droppings."

He looked confused. "What's a halla?"

I rose to my feet and looked around. "It's a sort of domesticated deer. The Dalish use them. They hitch their aravels," at his expression I clarified, "that is, their land-ships – to the beasts when they move from place to place."

Connor glanced around. "I haven't seen any Dalish."

I shrugged. "If they are hiding, you won't. Mind you, if that was the case, they wouldn't be so incautious as to leave droppings behind."

"You are correct, flat-ear."

I looked up to see a tattooed face at the other end of an arrow. The archer was on top of a small rise off to the side of the road. "Atash Valenm, hunter," I said without inflection or fear.

His bow minutely straightened as my words caused the pressure on the bowstring to lessen. Not enough to relax, but enough to know I wouldn't sprout a feathered shaft without warning. "What cause do you have to travel so close to our camp?" he demanded.

I shrugged my shoulders. "No cause beyond that our path takes us to Kirkwall. I had no idea there were any clansmen in the area."

Three more Dalish hunters materialized out of the landscape. It was the only way to describe how they emerged from their camouflage. One stepped forward. "Follow me. I shall escort you."

I narrowed my eyes. "I need no escort. This is a Tevinter highway. My map says it leads to Kirkwall. I can hardly get lost."

"It is not for your benefit," the first Dalish retorted, once again drawing back fully on his bowstring.

Connor tensed, so I placed a hand on his forearm. "That makes no sense," I replied.

"Your understanding is not our concern, flat-ear."

I stared at the bowman, assuming he was their nominal leader. "Do not call me that again. I don't tolerate disrespect from anyone; human or elf. I am a Grey Warden. You will not insult me again."

"You are truly a Warden?" one of the archer's comrades asked.

I glared at her. "I am."

She gestured to the archer, and the bow was lowered. "Please, allow me to escort you to our Keeper."

I didn't really want to be distracted by requests to rescue lost kittens, but the fact that a Dalish clan was living so close to a major trading city piqued my curiosity. There was something else at work here. I nodded by assent.

We were led to the most established Dalish camp I'd ever seen. There were aravels that had stayed in place so long that grass had grown and peaked through the spokes on their wheels. These Dalish had clearly been here in this one spot for a year or more.

The Keeper of the clan was an elderly woman with faded tattoos. The hunter bowed to her. "Keeper, this fl-, er, this elf claims to be a Grey Warden. She sounds Fereldan."

"Does she?" the Keeper replied serenely. "I bid you welcome, Warden. I am Marethari, Keeper of this clan."

I nodded a neutral greeting. "Kathryn Surana, Commander of the Grey of Ferelden."

The hunter paled. My name carried weight even here it seemed.

Marethari however, was nonplussed. "Are you indeed?" she asked rhetorically, with no surprise evident in her tone. "Your story has reached even us from across the Waking Sea. I am pleased to see that your disappearance was not of the permanent kind."

I gave a soft snort of amusement. "Not as much as I." With a wave of one hand to encompass the camp, I asked, "Why are you tempting fate by making a long-term camp so close to a human city?"

The Keeper sighed. "It is not a reason you need concern yourself with, Warden. Several of my clan have voiced similar concerns to me."

I looked at her closely, but discerned no guile. Time to find out why I'd been brought here. "Very well. I shall take your leave then."

Marethari held up a hand. "Abide a short while, Warden. You are welcome here."

I raised an eyebrow, glancing at the nervous hunter. "A statement at odds with my recent experience."

"No doubt," she said with regret. "Some of my decisions have caused friction between the inhabitants of Kirkwall and my clan. We have taken in a young boy with a rare talent, much to their Circle's displeasure. Merrill, my First, has left us to dwell among the elves of Kirkwall's Alienage. A human woman named Haw-"

"You let your apprentice dwell in a city full of templars?" I blurted, interrupting her tale of woe.

Marethari drew herself up; she had more than half a foot on me. "I let her make her own choices, Warden. She could not remain here. Fear not for her safety; she is well protected."

"Right," I said, letting my tone conflict with my verbal agreement. "Thank you for your hospitality. We'll be going now."

The Keeper sighed. "A moment, I beg of you. We have no contact with the Grey Wardens of the Free Marches."

The familiar sensation of imposition crept over me. "Let me guess, you have a problem that only I can help with."

She frowned at that. "Eradicating darkspawn is your duty, Warden."

My eyebrows shot up. "There's darkspawn nearby?"

"Yes. My hunters have reported sightings along the Wounded Coast for the last year. We avoid them for the most part, though some travellers have succumbed to them."

I nodded gravely. This was different. "I will do what I can. If necessary, I will insist the Wardens of the Free Marches patrol the area."

The elderly mage bowed slightly. "I thank you."

* * *

><p>The trip down to Kirkwall was sobering. Both Connor and I could feel the veil's strength wane as we approached. It felt awkward and disconcerting, as though eyes were upon us from just over our shoulder.<p>

"This is going to be hard," Connor said.

"I know," I agreed. "You'll be tempted here, and I have no way to send us to the Fade to convince the demons to leave you be."

To his credit, he didn't whine. He grit his teeth, pushed his shoulders back, and picked up the pace.

I smiled at his back before breaking into a jog to catch up. "There are supposedly a lot of Ferelden refugees in Kirkwall. Someone dressed like you with a mabari at his heels shouldn't be bothered at the gates. You might need to bribe the guard to let you in though."

He looked down at the dried bloodstains on his leather armour. The past few months on the road had been more than moderately filled with violence. "I can play a mercenary well enough I guess."

"You look the part," I told him.

The guards at the gate thought so too. Despite his still-youthful features, Connor's eyes showed that the lad had seen his share and more of death. Beyond a brief warning to keep his hound collared and under control, we were let in without notice.

I resumed my form in an alley not far into the city. Connor looked wary as I re-joined him.

"I didn't think you wanted to wander around this city with your staff over your shoulder."

I nodded my head towards a man with an oily beard and several bodyguards walking past. He wore robes and carried a staff that glittered and wafted frost. "Somehow, I think I was being overcautious. The templars here are either incompetent of happy to take bribes. We can deal with either."

He smiled without humour. "I look forward to that."

I grimaced. It wouldn't do for him to start a war against an entire city full of magic-damping warriors; at least until he could resist a Holy Smite. I'd taught him the theory, but I had no way to give him practical experience. It cost Anders and Velanna quite a few bruised bums before they succeeded in practice.

We wandered for a while, talking to people and getting a feel for the city. It was different from Ferelden cities. Kirkwall had a similar flavour to Val Royeaux, though the names of the areas were very prosaic. The area of town where the affluent dwelled was called Hightown. The slums, Lowtown. No one had stayed up all night coming up with those names.

We tracked down a noble who'd done business with Salmont. The Comte de Launcet was more Orlesian that the most Orlesian noble I'd observed in Celene's court. He was a poser with more money than sense. Still, he had enough sense to sell his deal to me.

The only other local who had relevant dealings with Salmont was a dwarf clan called Tethras. After my first few enquiries as to their office location were rebuffed, we were directed to a tavern in the slums.

The Hanged Man. What a name. At least the sign out the front was wooden and not more realistic.

The common-room was unremarkable. The tavern was full of people drinking their dinner; mercenaries, guards, workmen. I ordered a bottle of wine from the bartender and asked him where I could find someone from the Tethras family. He indicated some stairs towards the back with a jerk of his head.

Connor and I made our way through the crowd and up the designated stairs. Around a blind corner we found a dwarf who'd appeared to have set up shop. Uniquely for a child of the stone, he was close to clean-shaven, with only short stubble. Mind you, hiding that jaw under facial hair would be a crime. I found myself wanting to run my fingers down its length. It would take a sledgehammer and several hours' effort to break it.

"Welcome! Varric Tethras at your service," he said, oozing confidence and ease. There was no hint that our appearance was a surprise.

"You were expecting us," I stated.

He spread his hands jovially. "Word reached me that a human lad and an elf woman were asking where to find me. It's nothing more sinister than that. Might I know your names?"

I nodded. "Call me Kat." I deliberately didn't introduce Connor.

"Well then welcome, my feline friend. What can House Tethras do for you?"

"I was under the impression that Bartrand was the head of house Tethras."

Varric's eyes tightened. "I am afraid that my dear, beloved brother is not available for business meetings at present."

I sat down. "Is that a euphemism for him being dead? Or just that you've had a difference of opinion and that he's left town rather than sort things out?"

He glanced between Connor and me, probably wondering why only the elf was taking part in the conversation. "Now why would you think that?"

I let a smile grow on my face. "I've spent enough time around dwarves to know how you traditionally settle such matters."

He gave a sigh. "Stereotypes are a burden we must live with, I suppose."

No answer forthcoming there then. I nodded to Connor and the lad pulled out a sheaf of contracts. "You – that is, someone in the Tethras clan – negotiated with the Marquise of Salmont in Orlais to purchase grain and barley at a set price for the next twenty-five years, with an option to extend for a further fifteen."

"Really? That doesn't sound like something I'd agree to."

I pushed the contract across the table. Varric glanced down at it.

"Interesting. How did you get this?"

"Note the pledge of security should the contract not be fulfilled," I said, ignoring the question.

"Land in Orlais," he said, again without surprise. I got the impression there was little going on around him that this dwarf did not know.

Connor showed him another contract; with different signatories but the same secured land.

"Ah, I see."

Connor wordlessly withdrew another contract.

Varric leaned back in his chair, ignoring the rest of the documentation. I found that odd; all the other merchants I'd visited examined the agreements in minute detail, looking for some way to turn them to their advantage. "I heard you visited a Comte in Hightown today. Did you show him something similar?"

I shrugged. "That's not really relevant. Are you going to examine these agreements?"

He tapped the Tethras contract with one knuckle. "This was not negotiated with Bartrand or me. Our ready gold was bound up in a rather large expedition at the time."

"So, someone else in your family then," I mused. I wondered if this was going to cost me more than I wanted to pay. "Do you have a large family?"

He laughed, smooth and genuine. "I have family like a dog has flees."

"Would you mind directing me to the flee-like family member who is responsible for this agreement then?"

"Possibly," he said, examining the fingernails on one hand. "What are you doing with this information?"

"I want to buy the rights."

"That sounds unprofitable," he pointed out.

I shrugged. "Only if your goal is money."

He frowned, as if unable to understand the concept. "You'll forgive me if I take some time to think about your offer. When someone is keen to make a deal that seems bad for them it's best to know all the details. People have a habit of leaving out all sorts of pertinent information."

Damn. I didn't want to stay in Kirkwall any longer than necessary. Still, I gave him a genuine smile. "By all means."

He gestured towards the common-room of the tavern. "I need to speak to some of my associates. Feel free to tell Ivan downstairs that you are my guests."

I nodded and began to rise, but stopped when a thought occurred. "You received word we were looking for you before we got here. It sounds like you probably know more about what's going on in the city than most."

He chuckled. "I know more about what's going on than anyone else in this city."

I eased myself back down into the seat. "So, if I happened to be looking for someone, you would be just the dwarf to help me find him."

He spread his hands. "That depends entirely on whether your desire to find this person is greater than their desire not to be found."

I considered his answer. Did he want a bribe? "I do not intend to harm him. I just want to check to see if he is safe."

That didn't seem to change things. Varric's expression stayed the same. "Does this man have a name?"

I smiled wistfully. "Undoubtedly, but he never told me what it was."

The dwarf chuckled. "That's probably going to make finding him a little more expensive."

"Possibly," I agreed. "But he goes by Anders."

Varric coughed. If he'd been drinking at the time it would have ended up all over me. "You're looking for _Blondie_?"

I blinked, before bursting into laughter. "Blondie? Does he know you call him that?"

The dwarf's demeanour suddenly changed. His welcoming manner turned cold. "There are a lot of people looking for him. Not many have his continued well-being in mind."

That quashed my amusement. "He's in danger?"

"That man attracts danger almost as much as Hawke," he groused.

I'd heard that name before, but there were more pressing matters right now. I leaned forward. "Who is threatening him?"

Varric rubbed his chin, making a sound like sandpaper over rock. "Who isn't? Besides the Fereldan refugees, he doesn't have many friends."

"But you're one of them," I guessed. "A successful businessman who is happy to set up permanent shop in a Lowtown tavern when he could easily afford a Hightown mansion, who is a – if not _the_ – information broker to go to in this city… That's a powerful friend to have."

"Then you'll understand that I'll keep his location a secret then. Between the templars and the Grey Wardens, he's got a lot of powerful enemies looking… for… him…" Varric trailed off, staring at me with impressively wide eyes.

Connor leaned down. "I think he's figured out who you are," he said in my ear.

I leaned towards him, still looking at our host. "Spotted that, did you?" I said with a grin.

Varric swallowed, causing his prominent Adam's apple to bob up and down. "You know, I'm not caught by surprise very often. I heard you disappeared, and the word is that you're dead."

I put my hands behind my head and gave him a satisfied smile. "I did. I'm not."

"Well, your interest in Blondie makes more sense," he said, rubbing the back of his neck, looking down at the table. "And now I get what you're doing."

"What do you mean?" Connor asked, tensing. "Doing what?"

"What you're trying to do with the contracts. You're going to ruin Salmont."

"Of course," I said, coldly.

He swallowed again. "Are you going to force Blondie back to Ferelden?"

I shook my head. "No. Like I said, I just want to talk to him. To make sure he's safe. I want him to come back of course; I'll welcome him with open arms. But he needs to decide to return himself."

Varric stared at me for a long time before he nodded and got to his feet. "Come on then. I'll take you to him." He pulled on a thick leather jacket and picked up an odd looking object, like a crossbow that had been half-disassembled and then reattached.

The sudden change caught me by surprise. I rose to my feet, wondering if Varric was going to lead me into a trap. "How do you know Anders?" I asked, falling in beside the dwarf. It was nice to talk to someone my height for a change.

"I met him while Hawke and I were trying to finance that expedition I mentioned."

I thought back and made the connection. I knew I'd head that name before. "You were the ones who went into the Deep Roads! Hawke's sister, er Beth or Bessie-"

Varric looked at me cautiously. "Bethany."

"Right! Bethany! She was corrupted by the taint down there. A Warden called Stroud was nearby and took her in."

If his expression was anything to go by, Varric was impressed. "How do you know all that?"

I shrugged. "I overheard Stroud talking to another Warden in Val Royeaux before my funeral."

"Before your… ha! Hawke will be annoyed to have missed meeting you."

"You mentioned this Hawke; you said she was a friend and business associate. Tell me about her."

He grinned as if talking about Hawke was his favourite pastime. "She's a refugee from Ferelden. Her family came over during the Blight. She bought the old Amell estate in Hightown when we got back from the Deep Roads." He looked around as we left the tavern. "She's out of town at the moment though. She and some friends are off in Orlais."

"Doing what?"

"An Orlesian Duke purchased a ring from the loot we brought out of the Deep Roads. He invited Hawke to his estate for a hunt of some kind. She invited me and Blondie, but I had business in town and Blondie, well, you'll see." He paused, sizing me up. "A word of warning; Hawke is as deadly a warrior as I've ever seen. If you mean to harm Blondie, you'd best be out of the city before she gets back from Orlais."

I raised an eyebrow. "They're close?"

He chuckled. "She wants to be closer. She keeps dropping hints but he keeps pushing her away."

I wondered if we were talking about the same Anders. He wasn't one to turn down a willing female's attention. Maybe Hawke looked like an ogre. "Where are we going?"

"Darktown."

"Where's that?"

Varric snorted. "Under Lowtown."

Connor and I shared a glance. "The town planners here in Kirkwall are not the most creative people in Thedas, are they?"

"No."

* * *

><p>Lowtown was a slum, but Darktown was a sewer. Literally. The refuse of society dwelled amid the refuse of humanity, huddled together for mutual protection and warmth. We were eyed with suspicion and envy the entire way.<p>

"It isn't the most picturesque part of Kirkwall, I admit," Varric said as we squelched through fetid mud.

"Definitely the most fragrant though," I retorted.

"That's true. Anders runs his clinic up ahead."

We climbed some rickety stairs to a pair of doors with a lit lantern illuminating them. I began steeling myself to enter.

"Uh oh," Varric said, drawing my attention.

I turned to see a pair of templars kicking some poor souls out of their way. They descended the rickety stairs into a deep dip before starting up the equally rickety stairs to our level.

"Connor, finish them quickly," I ordered.

He didn't respond. He just made his way over to the top of the stairs.

"Er, you're not going to help? He's just a boy," Varric objected.

"He doesn't need my help."

Judging by the fitted breastplates, the templar pair was made up of a male and a female. As they reached our level the male jabbed his gauntleted finger at Connor. "You, boy, where is the mage who abides near here?"

Connor responded by kicking him in the groin.

He went down with an aborted grunt. The female gaped for a second, and then screamed a war-cry in response to the unprovoked attack. She began to draw her sword from the scabbard on her shoulder.

Connor didn't bother drawing his own weapon. He simply gave a short, charging rush and rammed his shoulder into her chestplate. The smaller woman stumbled back and fell off the ledge, to the left of the stairs. She landed twelve feet below with a crash and began shrieking in agony. Several broken bones, if I had to hazard a guess.

Varric made some appreciative noises.

Connor drew his sword as the male tried to roll away. He ended the templar's life with an efficient stab, twist and pull. Arterial blood spurted over the ground, though Connor had positioned himself so that not a drop touched him. Very efficient.

I watched in pride as my apprentice descended the stairs. Pained curses and threats turned into a single clash of weapons and a truncated feminine scream.

Varric looked on as Connor ascended the stairs to rejoin us. The lad's expressionless face appeared to give the dwarf shivers. "And I thought the Coterie were emotionless bastards," he said, shaking his head. "You Wardens are cold."

"He's not a Warden," I said, storing the name 'Coterie' away for future questions. "Good work," I told Connor.

"It's still a problem though," Varric muttered. "I haven't heard even a hint that the templars know Blondie was down here."

"What do we do with the bodies?" Connor asked, ever focused on the problem at hand.

Varric shrugged. "That's simple enough. Hey! You! There's a silver each in it for you if you get rid of these."

Half a dozen emaciated figures rushed from the shadows and began dragging the ex-templars away. Varric flicked a coin to each of the urchins. "Problem solved."

"Effective," I agreed.

"I could probably have convinced them that there was no mage here, you know," Varric offered.

"Bully for you," I dismissed. "This way they won't have a chance to come back when you're not here." I went back to the two doors without waiting for a reply. I pushed one open and looked inside.

Anders had changed. His face was careworn and weathered. His hair had grown longer but looked to be thinner. He'd lost weight too. He still had that feather fixation though. Why he was so insistent on covering up those tight, muscular shoulders, I'd never work out.

It was clear that his skill at healing was undiminished. I watched with pride as he healed a child then accepted no payment from the boy's mother. He then fixed a man's dislocated shoulder, washing away the bruise with glowing azure hands.

I watched him work diligently for a while. Connor and Varric waited patiently as I silently observed.

How would he react to me? What could I say? There were dozens of people waiting in the cramped clinic for him to assist them. If I took him away, what would become of them? What would become of those who needed him tomorrow?

I backed away and closed the door.

"Problem?" Varric asked.

"Does he do that every day?"

"Run the clinic? Yeah. He's here most of the time. If he's not here, he's probably out with Hawke, looking for trouble. Are you going to talk to him or not?"

I slowly shook my head, hating the realisation I'd made. "No. He's doing more good here than he would back in Ferelden."

Even though I was distracted, I still noticed the dwarf relax.

I squared my shoulders, an effect that probably would have been more impressive had they been somewhat broader. "There is something I can do to help protect him, however."

* * *

><p>I gave Connor and Varric some very specific instructions regarding what conditions needed to be met before they were to attempt my rescue. The dwarf assured me that Connor would be well looked after during my absence. Something about taking him to see a blooming rose. Sounded dull to me, but Connor's pre-Circle education had included horticulture at his mother's insistence, so he might enjoy it.<p>

Varric had a surprising amount of knowledge about the layout of the Gallows, where the Kirkwall Circle was located. The entrance to the Circle was semi-public; the dwarf had been there a handful of times with his friend Hawke and some others. Including the Dalish apprentice Merrill.

The fact that he'd visited there with a mage in tow caused me no small amount of confusion. It seemed that the Kirkwall templars were not only incompetent, but blind as well.

Still, I couldn't trust that they'd continue their stunning lack of competence just for me. I planned to infiltrate unseen, rather than walk in the front doors. Mice are great for that.

I purchased a cheap set of third- or fourth-hand leathers, including a battered helmet and gauntlets. To complete the rough-mercenary look, I strapped a sword to my back. I kept Spellfury on my other shoulder though. If confronted, I planned to claim I was trying to sell my big stick to anyone interested. I had a travelling robe in my sack at my hip, along with a handful of potions and bombs. My Grey Warden medallion and a signed note from the Commander of the Grey in Ferelden giving me permission to travel through the Free Marches completed the ensemble.

The trip to the Gallows went smoothly. I strolled unbothered through the large courtyard in front of the Circle. There were perhaps a dozen templars milling around the area. One in particular drew my attention.

Cullen, with brand new Knight-Captain epaulets, strode past. He looked good; tall and fit. His eyes were older though. Not surprising really.

He didn't recognise me; my still-short hair was covered by the helmet and the ill-fitting leathers made me look like a teenage boy. Well, that probably wasn't all the armour's fault. Nature had not seen fit to bless me with much in the way of curves.

I watched out of the corner of my eye as my old friend entered the Circle through a heavy portcullis. I debated adjusting my plans to include tracking him down and clearing the air between us, but figured that was probably pushing things a bit.

I found a nook to hide in, and transformed into a mouse. My armour dropped around me; only the sack with mouse fur on the rim joining me in my new form.

Scurrying along the edge of the wall, I made my way under the portcullis and into the Circle.

I was in, several hours ahead of schedule. I'd need to find a place to wait out the daylight hours. In a Circle, that only meant one place.

The templar numbers were greater here. It took a good quarter of an hour to find the library.

I found a niche behind the shelves and shifted back. I shrugged into the robe. It didn't have any enchantments, but it was sort of protective camouflage.

I squared my shoulders and began moving with purpose around the shelves, examining the tomes there.

Few people bothered a mage studying bookshelves.

Both Zevran and Leliana had taught me that the most difficult step in infiltrating a building or organisation was getting past the front door. Adopting the manner and dress of someone permitted – or even better, someone expected – to be inside made you all but invisible. Leliana had many stories of gaining access to properties by dressing as a maid. Zevran had often posed as a stableboy or manservant.

A mage studying a weighty tome in a library was not cause for interest.

I thought to select a large volume at random and find a nice nook to sit in, but a set of identical tomes drew my attention.

Having more than one copy of a book was not uncommon, but a half-dozen? I pulled one off the shelf and examined the title.

_Force Magic_.

Well that sounded interesting. A branch of magic not taught in Ferelden? I decided then and there that I would steal the book.

I took it and sat down.

I began to read.

Several hours later, having finished the text, I leaned back and smiled. The spells laid out within were unknown to me, but the theory resonated to my soul. I'd always had an affinity for the elements of nature, but this… this was magic in its rawest form.

What other books could I steal…?

I'd liberated a dozen or so other books and was part way through re-reading _Force Magic_ when a gong sounded through the library. "Curfew in half an hour," a templar at the entrance announced.

The other mages quickly packed up their books and returned them to the shelves. I duplicated their actions, at least up to replacing the books on the shelves. _Force Magic_ slipped into my sack, joining its bibliographic brothers.

I returned to my little alcove, stripped and shifted back into a mouse. I'd have preferred to stay in the library until midnight, but breaking a curfew would just attract attention. Still, I had books to read and a destination in mind.

* * *

><p>The Knight-Commander's study sat opposite the First Enchanter's. They were barely a minute's walk from the Circle's entrance. An odd layout, I thought, having your leader so accessible to anyone who could get in through the front door.<p>

Well, it suited me. Escaping would be easier if things went sour.

I scrabbled under the door and sniffed around for a bit before turning back into an elf. The empty room was full of interesting knick-knacks that gave me insight into the character of this Meredith.

After snooping through her files and pocketing a few shiny baubles, I sat down in her chair and put my boots on her desk. I pulled out _Force Magic_ and settled down to wait.

It was nearly midnight when the door's lock shifted. The Knight-Commander had long, milk-white hair that framed her cold, ice-blue eyes. She was a tall, physically imposing woman, who carried a two-handed sword across her back.

She jerked in surprise on noticing me.

"By the Black City, who are you?" she demanded.

I remained seated and gave her a mocking salute with one hand. "Kathryn Surana, Commander of the Grey, Arlessa of Amaranthine, at your service."

Her expression morphed from surprise into disbelief. "Surana is dead."

I nodded happily, closing my book and tossing it onto the desk. "Yes, I'm quite pleased at how pervasive that rumour has become. Please, come in. I won't take up much of your time. Honestly, I'm only here because I need to talk to you about one of my Wardens who has settled in this city."

"Get out of my chair!"

I sighed. "Fine. Are you at all capable of having a civilized conversation?" I asked as I went to rise.

She didn't answer. She raised her arms and began a short chant. I took a deep breath and then exhaled, focusing my mind.

The Holy Smite crashed down around me. I pushed the mystical force away.

"My turn." I twisted my hands and cast a petrification spell at the templar. She dropped her arms and took a half step back before she stiffened under the spell, her expression of shock temporarily etched onto her face.

"Smiting someone for not jumping to obey? Such discourtesy." I rose and walked around behind her. I closed and barred the study door. "I have a policy in dealing with people I meet for the first time; like for like. So, let's see. Are you tall enough to hit the desk there if you fell forward?"

I placed a finger on her back and gently pushed. She rocked forward slowly before falling in once stiff sweep. Her face hit the edge of her desk with a resounding thump, leaving her looking like a ramp. Blood started pooling under her nose.

"Ooo," I winced. "That sounded like it hurt." I walked up her legs, then her spine, wobbling slightly. I knelt down on her broad back and grabbed a handful of her snowy hair. I drew my knife out and held it against the side of her neck. Then I waited.

The spell ran its course. Meredith suddenly flexed as the petrification wore off, and we fell to the floor. I nearly ended her life by accident as her body hit the floor.

She gulped in laboured breaths, her fear and pain evident. "Your life is forfeit, Warden!" she said indistinctly through a broken, bloody nose.

"That might bother me if you had anyone nearby with the power to enact such a sentence," I retorted.

She spat blood onto her rug, but didn't attempt to shove me off. "I have ninety templars at my beck and call!" she threatened.

I leaned down and placed my lips close to her ear. "Can you keep a secret? I slaughtered more than ten times that number at Ostagar a year ago."

She gave a gasp. "That was you?"

"Of course it was me. Who else could it have been? If you try to kill me, I'll tear this building down around your ears and sink it into the Waking Sea before you even get close to succeeding."

The great Knight-Commander began trembling under me. "What do you want, Warden?" she tried, her voice betraying her.

"I told you already." I pressed the edge of my knife hard against the skin on her neck. "One of my Wardens has settled in Kirkwall. You will leave him alone."

"I refuse!" she declared.

"Fair enough. Maybe I'll have better luck convincing your successor."

"What?" she said.

I pulled her head back and slammed her abused face into the floor, causing a muted scream of pain. "You appear to be labouring under the misapprehension that you have a choice if you wish to see the sun tomorrow. You do not. You will either agree to leave Anders be, or I'll kill you now and conduct these negotiations with whoever replaces you."

"You would not dare!"

"Check my Curriculum Vitae. I think you'll find I would."

She swallowed, but did not respond.

There was a thumping on her door. "Knight-Commander? Are you all right?"

"Help!" she screamed.

I drew my dagger back and slammed the hilt behind her ear. She slumped.

The door started jumping it its frame as some burly chaps slammed their shoulders into it. "Orsino!" one voice called. "Blast this door open!"

I shimmered into a mouse and scurried into one corner, leaving my robe behind.

The heavy bar across the door shattered in a shower of splinters as a massive magical force hit the door from the outside. Even as a mouse, my eyes widened at the display of power.

Three templars rushed in, followed by an elf in mage robes, a ball of fire in each hand. One templar dropped to his knees and checked the Knight-Commander, while the others scanned the room, searching for the assailant.

Meredith groaned, slowly regaining consciousness.

"Knight-Commander? Are you all right? What happened?" One templar stooped and picked up my robe, holding it up for examination.

She suddenly gasped and struggled in the arms of the templar, panicking in confusion. He let her go. She struggled into a seated position and glanced around the room. Her befuddlement gave way to anger. She spotted the robe in the templar's fist. "Where is she? Did you capture her?" she demanded indistinctly through her bent beak.

"Capture who?" the elf mage asked.

"The Warden Surana!" Meredith shouted, climbing unsteadily to her feet.

The templars and mage shared glanced. "Warden Surana died months ago," one templar said.

"No! She was here!" Meredith raged, sounding like a madwoman. "That is her robe!"

The mage raised his hands and cast a healing spell on her. Despite her nose straightening, she shrieked, "No! Get him away from me!"

The elf looked shocked. "I was only heal-"

"Get out!"

"You heard the Knight-Commander, Orsino," a templar said, almost apologetically. "Out." He passed my robe to Orsino.

Orsino accepted the garment. He nodded, held a hand up in a placating manner, and left.

Meredith turned and placed both her hands on her desk, breathing heavily. Even from my position I could see her trembling. "Find her," she said softly.

"Knight-Commander," a templar began.

Meredith spun and leaned close. "FIND HER!" Meredith screamed into his face. The blood stains around her mouth gave her a more-than-mildly demonic air.

The three templars almost fell over themselves to obey. They rushed to the door and started barking orders to the gathering crowd outside.

After several loud moments, Cullen entered the room, breathing heavily. "Knight-Commander, you were attacked?"

She rounded on him. "Yes! By Warden Surana!"

Cullen paled. "But we received word that she-"

"I know," she interrupted. "The news was wrong. She was here in this very room." She covered her mouth with a trembling hand.

"K-kathryn is alive?"

That focused Meredith's attention. "You know her, don't you, Knight-Captain?"

Cullen nodded. "Yes. I was stationed at the Ferelden Circle during her apprenticeship."

Meredith narrowed her eyes. "Then I want you to lead the search for her. She infiltrated this Circle. I will not permit this insult. Find her Cullen. Find her and bring her to me. In chains."

He nodded, and gave her a crisp salute. "At once."

"Go!" she shouted at him.

Cullen turned to leave. "Phillip, Matthew, guard the Knight-Commander. The rest of you-"

"No!" Meredith spat. "I am fine. I will not underestimate her, and neither shall you. Everyone is to join the hunt. She is not to escape!"

Cullen looked to be on the verge of objecting, but noted her expression. "As you wish, Knight-Commander." He formed the templars search parties. After several noisy minutes, things grew quiet.

Throughout it all, Meredith, leaned against her desk, her gaze on the floor. Finally, once everyone besides the two guards on the other side of her door had left, she pushed off her desk and gently eased the door closed.

She placed her palms on the door, leaning against it. She stayed like that for a short time, before she took a deep, wavering breath, and then let out a soft sob. Her shoulders began shaking.

Well, that worked better than I expected. Clearly this was a woman with issues about magic. I wondered if it came from some event in her past. Not that it mattered.

She walked over to a cabinet and opened it, revealing several bottles filled with wine and spirits. While her back was turned, I shimmered back into an elf.

She felt the magic. She spun, but I was already casting. I dropped a petrification spell on her again. Once more, she stiffened.

"Tsk, tsk," I clucked lightly as I walked into her field of vision. "Demanding my capture? You think too highly of your templars." I gestured to my nude form and continued, "I walked past them naked and they didn't even notice. Invisibility and teleportation spells are good for that."

I reached out and gently ran the back of my fingers down the side of her neck, as intimately as a lover's caress. "You can't stop me, Meredith. None of you can. I can come and go without notice. I can kill you in your sleep, or leave you slumber as I please. I can face every templar you have and walk away as I tore this building down around their burning corpses. You appear to finally understand this, so I am giving you your one and only warning." I stopped my caress and instead roughly grabbed her throat. "Leave. Anders. Alone. I don't care if he casts lightning bolts in front of every templar in the city. I don't care if he spits in the Grand Cleric's dinner. I don't care if he summons every demon in the Fade to a tea party in the Chantry. If you touch him, I'll find you. And I'll stake you out in the Black City itself for demons to feast upon you and your soul for all eternity."

I drew back my fist as the spell ended and socked her across the jaw with every ounce of strength I possessed.

She went down.

I wasted no more time there. I collected my things, transformed, and left.

o_ooo000ooo_o

AN: Thanks to all my reviewers - dragon matt blue, pintsizedpsycho, Demonicnargles, 1moleman, Robbie the Phoenix, , seekeroflight90, Meatzman2, hilt51, SgtGinger, MB18932, Preier, The Flying Frog, NPC200, jaffa3, MemoriesoftheForgottenGuardian, Mike3207, Hydroplatypus, Conjuering King, raw666, Z LOT847, The Durdens Wrath, Aeonir, Whynot, Glenn Coco, InhConfessor, EmbertoInferno, Lamon, MrSir17, bandgsecurtiyaw, The DCG, 5 Coloured Walker, Lupi-wolf and kano547.

Things are better on the health front for me, so I hope to increase my output.


	33. A tourist's guide to Kirkwall

disclaimer=standard

Anything you recognise is Bioware's. Anything else probably belongs to them too.

/disclaimer

o_ooo000ooo_o

Cassandra swallowed audibly as she stared at the elf. Three years ago she had interrogated the dwarf Varric for long hours. His long tale had contained many implausible fragments. The most fantastical had been his claim that, directly following the annihilation of the Kirkwall Cathedral, despite Anders calmly sitting at the site, Meredith had left his punishment up to the Champion. That had simply made no sense, given the Knight-Commander's attitude towards mages. The Seeker had assumed that the dwarf had either not witnessed the confrontation, or had made substantial changes to make Anders appear even more impenitent.

However, if Meredith had been terrified to her soul of touching the man…

"It was you," she breathed. "You turned Knight-Commander Meredith to... to..."

Kathryn glared pointedly at her. "I told you," she said, her tone hard. "Don't you remember what I said as I began my tale? I specifically told you that I'd set events in motion that you wouldn't like to hear."

Leliana's eyes widened as she made the connection. "The events at Kirkwall… You were responsible?"

Kathryn nodded, looking glum. "Fundamentally, yes. I set the scene, as it were. My actions caused Anders to decide to desert the Wardens. Just as my actions laid the foundations of the events in Kirkwall. Meredith was a standard, closed-minded mana-phobe before I got to her. But to make sure she left Anders alone, I terrified her so much that I set her on the path to full-blown insanity. Before, she was content to merely clamp down on mages and their freedoms. After, she went in search of something that she could use to actively destroy a mage who could resist templar powers."

"Bartrand and his red lyrium idol," Cassandra stated.

"Exactly."

o_ooo000ooo_o

Without clothes, I was more or less forced to make my way back to the Hanged Man in animal form. While philosophically, a naked woman was at home in any company, exhibitionism would have drawn more attention than I could have coped with. I smuggled myself as a mouse aboard one of the boats that shuttled between the Gallows and the city, even during the early hours of the morning.

It seemed that the Gallows got restocked at night. The templars were searching each boat thoroughly before it left. It amused at the lengths they were going to in order to track me down.

Hopefully there would be rumours about me being able to teleport or turn invisible. Despite established magical lore that you needed to put one foot in front of the other in order to travel anywhere, the ancient elves did have eluvians that supposedly could transport people around. It wasn't so impossible to think that magic couldn't do that.

I turned myself into a dog the moment I got back to the docks, and trotted back to the grimy tavern in which Varric based himself. While a bitch of my attractiveness was rare, Kirkwallers could barely discern the difference between a mongrel and a purebred mabari. My presence wasn't cause for note.

I shimmered into a mouse, squeezed under the door to my room, and transformed back. Connor hadn't returned; his bed was unused. I clothed myself in my usual traveling leathers, and then went looking for Varric.

He wasn't in his customary alcove. Connor was, however.

"Arlessa Kathryn! You're safe!" he said in a hushed whisper, rising to his feet.

I nodded, noting a great many new blood stains and tears on his clothes. He was uninjured, so I deduced that he took care of any wounds before I returned. "I am. What happened to you? I was under the impression that Varric was going to stay with you until I got back."

He ducked his head. "Um, he was, but things got a bit, er…"

"Out of hand?"

He nodded.

I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Did anyone die?"

"Um, maybe?"

I frowned at that. "Maybe? You're more than intimately acquainted with what it takes to kill someone. That sort of vagueness is all well and good for mercenaries and thugs, but I expect more precision from you."

"Well, there was a bit of a fight. A brawl really. I couldn't keep track of everyone."

He looked so downcast that I had to fight back revealing my amusement. "Let me guess; you started it."

He opened his mouth, apparently to object, but thought better of it and just nodded. "And then the guards came and arrested everyone still standing."

"I trust that group included you?"

He nodded yet again.

"And yet you're here."

He looked abashed. "Well, I didn't want to stay in a prison cell for longer than I needed to, so I turned into a mouse and left."

I couldn't help but grin. "That's my boy."

He looked surprised, but flushed with pleasure. "W-what?"

"Connor, I can't tell you the number of times I've been involved in a situation that escalated beyond sanity. And authorities charged with enforcing the will of the local ruler tend to be humourless and unmotivated. Personally, I've never felt the need to stay in their company any longer than necessary. I am curious however, weren't you going to a garden or something? How did it all happen when you're looking at roses, for Andraste's sake?"

He frowned. "What? Varric didn't take me to a garden."

"Then where-"

"He took me to a brothel."

I blinked. "He said he was taking you to see a rose."

"The Blooming Rose," Connor agreed. "It's the name of a brothel in Hightown."

Sodding dwarf played me. I should have realised he wasn't being straight with me from that grin he gave me. "Of course it is," I sighed. "So what happened?"

The lad looked mightily uncomfortable. "Um, Varric talked to a woman there in charge, and they got another lady to sit with me." He paused and gave a cough.

I gestured for him to continue.

"Well, she was pretty, but I didn't want to, you know…"

I sat down and gestured to the seat next to me. As he dropped into it, I placed an arm around his shoulders. It was a stretch to reach that far. "Any reason why not? I mean, you've just turned fifteen. I recall that apprentices in the tower of that age, particularly the boys, were quite indiscriminate."

He looked at me briefly, then lowered his eyes and shrugged. "I just… there's someone else."

Ah. I'd seen that exact look on Cullen. "I see. So what happened?"

"Well, she wouldn't leave me alone. I didn't want her to touch me, but she kept…" he took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Through clenched teeth he finished, "I shoved her away. She fell backwards and got hurt."

"And the people in charge of keeping the peace intervened," I reasoned.

Connor's face morphed to a mask of rage. "They came and picked me up and threatened to… to…" I felt the magic potential in the air grow, like fog wafting in off a lake.

I pulled my hand away from his shoulders and grabbed his hand. "Connor! Stop. You're safe."

He closed his eyes and clenched my hand. "I just… It's so hard! I can feel the demons, they're so close here!"

I squeezed his hand back, but before I could respond I heard several heavy footsteps accompanied by an argument on the stairs. "Quick! Ch-," I got out before Connor shimmered into a rodent. I smiled at his speed, and pointed to a far corner. He scurried over and out of sight.

"-want to know who he is!" a forceful, female voice carried. Oddly, she had a distinctly Ferelden accent.

"And I'm telling you, I don't know. I only just met him today. Well, yesterday. He accompanied an associate I'm doing business with, that's all!" Varric's voice replied.

"I'm not buying that, Varric! You were down at the guardhouse in double quick time to try and bribe his way out of the cells."

The dwarf decided to go for the 'honest but misunderstood' title. "Guard Captain! Really! I would never…"

"Oh shut it, dwarf!"

The argument rounded the corner. One dwarf accompanied by three armoured humans. The leading female's armour looked somewhat more ornate than the other pair, but it was no less functional for that.

Varric's eyes widened on seeing me, but he made no other move. The woman – the Captain of the Guard, presumably – gave a start of surprise.

"Varric," I greeted with a nod. "You brought back company."

"Ah, Kat," he prevaricated, rubbing the back of his neck. "I didn't expect you to be up so late."

The Captain's eyes narrowed. "You're Varric's 'business associate' I take it?"

I spread my hands, deciding that until I got a better understanding of what was going on, vague answers would be better. "I'm _an_ associate of his," I answered. "I'm not so naïve to assume I'm the only one. I won't be staying long; as soon as our business is concluded, I'm heading home."

"Kat just arrived yesterday to negotiate a contract, Aveline."

Aveline pointed at me. "Is the boy Connor your companion?" she demanded.

I had a fundamental objection to answering questions posed to me in such a manner. "Is there a reason you wish to know?"

Varric looked up at the ceiling and sighed. Aveline's eyes narrowed. "He escaped from custody while this dwarf was trying to bribe one of my guards to release him!"

I raised an eyebrow. "Really? That sort of largess doesn't match with Varric's reputation at all," I pointed out.

"I know!" Varric agreed with enthusiasm. "So you see, I didn't-"

"Don't!" Aveline snapped, rounding on him. "I know you bribe the gangs to make sure they leave Merrill alone."

He narrowed his eyes. "Daisy is a friend," he stated flatly. "I've known her for almost two years. I just met the lad yesterday."

The guard rubbed her eyes in frustration. "Ugh, I don't have time for this. I'm searching your rooms, Varric. If I find the boy, I'm taking both of you in."

Varric tensed. "Is that necessary? I've been in your company constantly. I literally cannot have had anything to do with his escape."

"Perhaps you should have thought of that before bribing one of my guards and forcing me from my bed two hours past midnight!"

The red-haired Captain flicked her hand at the two silent guards, who moved off towards a specific room. Varric followed along, all the while complaining.

Aveline turned to me. "You look familiar," she said.

I couldn't have that. "All you humans look alike to me too," I retorted.

Her eyes narrowed. "You didn't answer my question earlier," she growled.

I pretended to rub my eyes wearily. "Sorry, I'm quite fatigued. Could you repeat your question?"

"Is the lad Connor your companion or not?"

I crossed my arms. "I'm not deliberately being obtuse, but will it matter what my answer is? Given what you're saying he did, if I say yes, you'll arrest me. If I say no, you will say you don't believe me and you'll arrest me anyway. So where is it to my advantage to answer?"

She closed her eyes and appeared to count under her breath. "Fine. I'll just have someone keep an eye on you until you leave." She spun on her heel and stormed over towards the room the two guards were searching.

Varric continued to complain as the search took place, though his voice became far less intense once he realised that Connor was not hiding in his rooms. The Guard Captain growled out some more threats, though her heart wasn't in it. I got the impression that she actually liked Varric, but was just unamused at being woken in the middle of the night.

Eventually, the guards left. Varric joined me in his usual business spot. "This is pretty much exactly how I did not want my night to go," he grumbled, before giving an enormous sigh of relief. "Did the lad make it back here?"

I grinned. Under the table, I gestured to Connor. "He's behind you," I said.

Varric frowned. "Very funny. Where is he?"

I just kept smiling until Connor resumed his form behind the dwarf. "Like I said, he's behind you."

Varric sighed and half turned his head. The sight of Connor staring at him with dead eyes caused the dwarf to jump clear out of his chair.

"Ahh! Maker's breath!" he cursed, clutching his heart. "Where the hell did you come from?"

"I was here the whole time," Connor replied, his tone empty and flat. "I didn't want to have to kill the Guard Captain, so I hid."

Varric placed two fists on the low table and leaned forward, breathing deeply. "My God, you people are going to be the end of me. If I sign that damned contract over to you will you leave Kirkwall?"

I nodded. "Yes, of course. But I'll probably come back after we visit Starkhaven and buy out the contracts held there. I understand that it's easier to charter a ship to Fereldan from here."

The dwarf looked pained. "My family has business interests in Starkhaven. If you go straight home now, I promise that I'll buy all your damned contracts in Starkhaven for you."

I raised an eyebrow. "That sounds less than profitable."

"Believe me, it will be in my interests to get you back to Ferelden as soon as possible. The last thing I need is you unsupervised in Starkhaven," he insisted. At my questioning expression, he explained, "The Gallows are in an uproar; the Knight-Commander was attacked in her own chambers. Every damned guard in the city is searching for Mister Invisible here, making it damned hard to conduct honest smuggling." He shook his head. "You've only been here a day. I'm not sure Kirkwall could survive you being here too much longer."

"I do have that sort of effect on local events," I agreed amicably. I tilted my head to one side. "I'll think about your offer. For now, I think it's time to sleep. I'm exhausted."

He grunted, not pleased, but agreeing. We rose and went our different ways.

Once in our room, I turned to Connor. "Are you all right?"

He shrugged. "The Veil in this city is really thin. I can almost hear demons even when not sleeping." He paused. "I think maybe I do need to go and kill someone. That should quieten them enough for me to sleep."

I felt a shiver run up my spine. The lad already had blood on his hands today. As proud as I was of his abilities, he was still a young man. To be so accustomed to death at such a young age was insupportable.

He was fifteen. Peasants and nobles alike of his age were generally married by now, and quite likely to be parents. Even such ordinary people had troubles, but to have lived through the horrors this young man had endured would have damaged even the strongest willed person.

I made a snap decision, took his hand and led him to the straw pallet. "Connor, you've been steeped in death and killing for years now. You need to learn to enjoy life."

He blushed in the dim light. "Um, Arlessa Kathryn?" he stammered, suddenly sounding several years younger. His hand began trembling.

"Shh," I said, placing a finger on his lips. "It probably would have been easier on everyone if you'd done this at the brothel earlier."

"But I… but we…"

"Shh," I repeated, easing his clothing off his shoulders.

I flicked some fire magic around the room, warming the air. It was always nicer to avoid gooseflesh when getting intimate. Once Connor was naked, I gently pushed him down onto the sleeping pallet.

I pulled off my robe. The sight visibly impressed him.

"Kathryn, are you sure?" he tentatively asked.

I nodded, squatting over his lap. "There is so much good in the world, Connor. You need to experience the joy that can be found in life." I reached down and gripped him.

It was difficult to start with. I was not particularly aroused, but after a bit of uncomfortable maneuvering of hips, my body began to respond. Connor however became caught up in the moment, and began thrusting hard, his breath quickly turning to gasps.

I placed both hands on his shoulder and shoved him back to the pallet. I growled, "No! I'm not doing this for you to simply finish in seconds!"

He froze, staring at me with fear in his eyes.

"Sit still," I ordered, much more calmly. I began gently rising and falling. "Savour it, Connor. This is a celebration of life."

I took command of everything. Quite a few times he began to lose control, and I pushed him down and instructed him to stop moving. I took some delight in teasing him, drawing out his pleasure. I slowed as he approached climax. I sped up when he calmed down. For perhaps half an hour, I gently took him to heights of pleasure.

Finally, even slowing did not help. He suddenly cried out and clutched at my body, encasing me in a crushing hug. He thrust powerfully and surged within me. Such physical strength appealed to me, and I found myself quivering at his loss of control.

I lay on top of him for a long while, still joined. His breathing slowed and evened out. Moving as little as possible, I reached out and grabbed a blanket, sliding it across our bodies. I rolled off his chest and into the nook of his arm. A few moments later, I joined him in sleep.

* * *

><p>Connor attitude was much improved the next day. He had a smile on his face that could not be shifted. He did make a formal offer to take my hand in marriage, apparently feeling that he'd somehow defiled me. It was a noble act that reminded me of Teagan. I managed to keep my amusement from my tone as I explained that his offer was appreciated, and indeed flattering, but was in no way necessary.<p>

I did not mention that having Isolde as a mother-in-law was not an appealing prospect.

After a hearty breakfast that would have given Alistair's appetite esteem issues, he happily joined me in a jaunt out of the city and along the Wounded Coast.

Without the taint in my veins, I couldn't locate the darkspawn Marethari insisted were around. So we explored up and down the dunes, from the water's edge to the rocky tors, searching for tainted ground or the distinctive whiff of decomposing flesh.

A distant sound drew our attention. The clash of weapons. War cries. And a familiar scream of inarticulate rage that could only come from a darkspawn throat.

We broke into a jog.

The skirmish was mostly over by the time we reached it. There were barely a handful of living defenders against a wave of hurlocks and genlocks. Dozens of corpses lay scattered around a cave entrance; human, darkspawn and, incongruously, Qunari. Hurlocks continued to surge out of the cave, attempting to overrun an eclectic band of defenders.

One more human fell to a rush of two gunlocks, leaving two men and two Qunari still standing behind a natural outcrop of rock. Every one of them was clearly injured, with free-flowing wounds, but they fought with bravery, or at least determination.

Whoever the humans and Qunari were, the darkspawn were my enemy. I rose to my full, unimpressive height and unleashed the Force Magic spell I'd learned just the night before. As the magic took hold, I made a fist and mimed slamming it into the ground at my feet.

A powerful wave of invisible force smashed every darkspawn within a few meters of the cave entrance hard into the ground, breaking bone and crushing organs.

I gasped at the sensation. I could almost _feel_ my enemies break under my fist. Blessed Maker and his merciful bride; that felt _fantastic_!

Connor's eyes widened in appreciation, and he let loose a fireball at the stunned darkspawn. Unable to even crawl away, the pyrotechnic display shredded the bastards.

With our unexpected magical support, the four remaining defenders managed to fend off the few darkspawn outside of the affected area of our magical assault. However, the cave vomited more of the cursed creatures, and I gleefully let loose a more sustained magical barrage.

Lightning burned through rotten chests. Ice froze and shattered decomposing heads. Again and again, I slammed them with that glorious spell, luxuriating in the sensation of unleashing so primal a magical force.

To my disappointment, the ready supply of darkspawn dried up long before my appetite for destruction did. Connor too looked a bit despondent at having his fun cut short.

The two human defenders gave us a cheer. The Qunari simply looked up at us impassively.

Then, too quickly for me to register, the larger Qunari took his weapon and ran the other through.

Connor cursed at the blatant murder.

The two humans appeared to agree. They readied their weapons, but were unable to withstand a rush from the giant. One head arced away while another took the blade deep in the side of his chest. The second man managed to stab his own sword into the Qunari's abdomen before he expired.

The killer staggered, and dropped to one knee. He tugged weakly at his sword's hilt, trying to free it from its grisly tomb.

Connor looked ready to exact some justice on behalf of the victims, but I grabbed his arm and shook my head. "The darkspawn were our objective. It does not matter what happened amongst the rest; it not our business to exact vengeance."

He considered that, and nodded. "But-"

"That doesn't mean I'm not curious," I added.

We approached the enormous warrior cautiously. He lay against the rocky outcrop, right hand still gripping his sword. His left was clasped around the blade of the sword embedded in his lower belly.

His eyes were closed, and he breathed in gasps, slow and shallow.

"Atas shokra," I greeted him.

The Qunari's eyes opened. "Saarebas," he snarled.

"Oh yes," I agreed cheerfully. "I'm likely the most saar of any saarebas you'll ever meet."

Connor turned to face me. "What's a saarebas?" he whispered.

"Literally, a dangerous thing," I explained with a grin. "It's a quaint peccadillo of Qunlat that mages should be described as such." To the dying Qunari, I said, "This is my apprentice."

He grunted, which turned into a wheeze. "Begone, saarebas. Allow me to die in peace," he muttered, closing his eyes. The sheen of sweat on his face gave him a shiny countenance.

"Most people don't turn on their allies so quickly. So why would a follower of the Qun commit murder just when their survival was assured?"

"I am Sten. I need not explain myself to bas."

"You are a Sten?" That was a surprise. I glanced at the remains of the three he had just killed. I quickly came to a conclusion. "Then you are here at your Arishok's bidding. He musht have sent you to eliminate these men and their Kossith allies, I take it?"

His eyelids flickered open again, this time filled with surprised curiosity. "You know more of the Qun than most bas. But you are unbound, so you are not viddathari."

I nodded. "I allied with a Sten during the Blight. I learned much of the Qun from him. He named me Basalit-an. He believed me to be Ashkaari."

Purple irises ringed with dark crimson regarded me. "You are the one known as the Warden," he stated.

"I am." I examined his face, noting the prominent dark veins around his eyes. He was corrupted.

"I have heard the story of how you located a single sword in a country afflicted by war. Anyone so capable must indeed be Ashkaari."

I nodded. "That is a good story. Asala is a blade worthy of such a quest."

He swallowed, but looked around at the corpses littering the area. "The Arishok tasked my platoon with the elimination of the Tal-Vashoth that abide in these caves. They allied with these vashedan who prey upon the weak who travel through this place. Our battle was interrupted by the cursed ones from the deep stone."

Connor raised his eyebrows.

I shrugged and translated for him. "Sten is a rank of prominence, reserved for Qunari of great skill and dedication. His military leader ordered him and his men to eliminate both the deserters and the bandits they'd shacked up with. The darkspawn interrupted their fun."

"Your words lack precision and gravitas, but they are essentially correct."

I dropped to one knee next to Sten. "Your mission remains incomplete, doesn't it? You still need to report back to your Arishok."

"Yes," he replied, his voice weakening.

I shook my head. "You'll not make it back to Par Vollen. Not without my help."

Through wheezing breaths, he replied, "I need only return to Kirkwall. The Arishok is there. With rest, perhaps I will have strength enough to survive the journey."

"No, you won't," I disagreed. I held up a hand to forestall the expected denial. "I don't doubt you could make it if you were just wounded. But you've been infected. The taint of the darkspawn is in your veins."

The Sten did not react. "Then my duty shall remain incomplete."

I snorted. "I thought you were Qunari. You're quitting?"

"Do not mock me!" he roared, before wincing and clutching at the blade again.

I gave some thought to the idea forming. "What if I offered you an extension to your life; long enough for you to report to your Arishok and fulfil your duty."

He glared at me suspiciously. "What would such largess cost me?"

"The rest of your life," I stated. "I am offering you the opportunity to become a Grey Warden. If you agree, and survive the ceremony, you will master the taint that is already killing you. The remainder of your life shall be spent fighting the darkspawn. That would be your duty, and your life, from that moment on."

"I will not abandon the Qun."

I sighed. "I'm not suggesting that you do. While I am not Qunari, I do appreciate the elegance and truths within its doctrine. If you decline, you will die here. Your Arishok will not receive word of your accomplishments, and all your skills will be lost. If you accept, you can fulfil your duty to him, but your duty from then on will be to the Grey Wardens. You will continue to serve the Qun by learning of, and fighting, a threat to all living beings in Thedas."

Sten closed his eyes and was silent for long moments as he considered the proposal. "I cannot accept."

I sighed. "That is a pity."

He continued, as though I had not spoken. "The Arishok must release me. I cannot dedicate myself to the Wardens without his guidance."

I rubbed my chin. I always carried enough lyrium at all times to make the Joining potion, and a few drops of archdemon blood in my Warden pendant. It would only really be necessary to brew in an emergency if there was ample fresh darkspawn blood around. But should Sten survive the Joining and the Arishok refused to release him, I would need to kill him on the spot.

If the Arishok took exception to that action, well then, I'd have to kill him too. Plus any other Qunari nearby who would no doubt take exception to the grisly death of their leader. It might get very bloody very quickly.

Was it worth the risk? Gaining a Qunari warrior was a prize I was willing to risk much for. I probably had the best chance of all the Grey Wardens.

"Connor, see to Sten's wounds. I've got to collect some things."

It did not take me long to gather the necessary reagent. I had to make the potion a little crudely, but I carried tools enough to do that. I used a drop of Sten's blood to make the potion more likely to work for him, per Avernus' instructions.

Connor was surprised and a little put out when I asked him to take himself out of earshot, but I was obliged to keep Warden secrets. I sent him out for some game, fully expecting the powerful Qunari to survive the Joining. Sten would wake with a potent hunger.

I said the ritual words and passed the enormous warrior the vial. He stared at the contents impassively, before downing the contents in one gulp.

"Disgusting," he said, before grunting and falling to his knees. My heart skipped a beat, but he fell to the side rather than forward, and began a deep, rumbling snore.

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Another Warden joined my ranks.

* * *

><p>Connor had learned rudimentary hunting skills from the Redcliffe Huntmaster before he had gone to the Circle. He could read and follow a trail with acceptable skill. Magic however, gave him an edge over the average poacher.<p>

He could petrify or stun a hare from a distance, then go and collect the animal at leisure. This close to the sea there wasn't any large game, but within an hour he had a brace of six coneys.

They were nicely roasted by the time Sten awoke from his nightmares. I let him eat ravenously as I explained the bad news. He took the limitations of his new station impassively, not giving any indication he cared one way or the other.

He was ready to move late in the afternoon. We continued along the coast away from the city, searching for signs of more darkspawn. We found another cave with a modest population, and committed genocide with satisfaction.

Sten fought brilliantly, as expected from someone with his rank. But besides his size, he reminded me only a little of my friend. This one had four horns and intricate tattoos over his exposed chest and abdomen.

When my Sten had explained to me that he had been chosen to infiltrate Ferelden to answer the question 'What is the Blight', I struggled to keep my amusement hidden that a lavender-eyed giant could ever be inconspicuous.

Having met horned-Qunari, I came to the bemused conclusion that my Sten actually was the best Qunari available for the job.

It was several hours past nightfall by the time I decided to make camp. Sten sat and stared into the campfire flames. "You fight with passion and skill," he said, breaking the silence.

Knowing that he was making a statement of fact rather than a compliment, I replied, "I know."

"Yet you are saarebas. You should be chained."

Connor drew in a sharp breath. I placed a hand on his shoulder. "Chaining me has been tried. It failed."

"Attempted with the customary incompetence of bas, no doubt."

I shook my head. "No, the man who did so was more than competent. The orders he followed were poor, however."

Sten did not immediately reply. "Basilit-an are respected. As are Ashkaari. But you are saarebas. And you are female. You cannot lead."

"You know nothing about her!" Connor spat.

"Silence, saarebas."

"No! Why don't you-"

"Enough!" I shouted. "Connor, thank you, but I can handle this. The Qun demands that he chain me."

Sten's head snapped up and he stared at me. "It is good that you understand this. Less so that you do not agree. The Qun demands that you submit. As saarebas in my presence, it falls to me to enforce."

"My duty demands that I do not. I am a Grey Warden. I will not allow anything to impede me from executing my responsibilities."

"That is an admirable sentiment; worthy of a Qunari. But it is misplaced."

I rose to my feet. "Are you arvaarad then?"

Sten also stood. "I can be."

"Arlessa Kathryn," Connor said; wariness in his voice.

"Connor, please light up this campsite with sprites," I said, my eyes never leaving Sten.

I imagined him comparing the two of us; a slight elf against a mountain of muscle. Sten was probably close to three times my weight. Still, Connor obeyed, and the campsite lit up with an eerie glow.

The Qunari readied his sword. "I perform this duty without satisfaction," he intoned. "You are basilit-an."

I smiled at him without humour. "Then show me that you are worthy of holding my chain." I whispered a spell.

He leapt forward, sword raised, blindingly fast.

Straight into a rearing archdemon.

The surprise on his face was gratifying. I batted him to the ground with a foreleg, and then slammed the same 'hand' down upon his body. I did my best not to crush him, but I needed to ensure he was contained. His face turned bright red in the magical light, and I could clearly see fear in his eyes.

I lowered my head to his, and snapped my jaws in front of his face.

"Parshaara, atashi!" he wheezed.

I pulled my head back and raised my leg, freeing him.

He scrambled back, putting as much distance between us as he could. He looked up at me with wide eyes and an open mouth.

I shimmered back into my elf form. Before I said anything however, gooseflesh reminded me of something.

"Damn it! Connor, throw me a blanket, will you?" I snapped, standing amid the scraps of my clothes.

* * *

><p>Connor was suitably impressed. He'd heard the story of how I'd been found at Ostagar, but had never seen a dragon of such size before.<p>

Sten however, had real trouble. The Qun dictated that mages were dangerous; indeed, that was how they were described. But the fact that I had so much power yet had the discipline to refrain from laying waste to the countryside was a dichotomy he found difficult to process.

We managed to scrounge another set of mismatched leathers from the corpses around the cave where we'd met Sten. They were uncomfortable, and could in no way be described as hygienic, but they satisfied my modesty.

We found no more darkspawn, but there was clear evidence that they were regular visitors to the Wounded Coast. I'd definitely need to get the place patrolled by the local Wardens.

Once I was satisfied that we'd made the area as clear of darkspawn as practicable, we headed back to Kirkwall.

* * *

><p>The Arishok was enormous. Even seated, I estimated he stood half a head taller than Sten. As expected, he ignored Connor and me, speaking only to his officer. Despite speaking in Qunlat, I could follow along.<p>

Sten described the numbers and composition of the Tal-Vashoth he and his patrol eliminated. He described the battle with the darkspawn without exaggeration, including the magical assistance.

The loss of several soldiers did not even rate a flicker of emotion on the eight-horned giant's face. He stared at Sten impassively throughout the entire report.

"This is the saarebas known as the Warden."

To my silent delight, he actually leaned back a bit at that. Several of the other Qunari in the compound turned to stare.

I stepped forward, deciding not to waste time with trivial greetings. "The Qunari do not recognise our Right of Conscription. I know that it is incompatible with the Qun. However, the darkspawn are an enemy that threatens all life on Thedas. The Qun must learn of them.

"I propose that you delegate Sten's duty to the Wardens. He shall return to Ferelden with me, where he shall learn of this enemy as he battles them with us. When I deem him ready, he shall return to you and establish an order of Qunari dedicated to the eradication of darkspawn. Established on the precepts of the Grey Wardens, this Order will follow the Qun, while protecting Qunari from the threat."

Deep set eyes regarded me for a long moment. "No."

I felt my stomach drop. "Then Sten must die, here and now. He is a Grey Warden, and cannot be permitted to leave the Order."

The Arishok turned to Sten. "Go. Do not return."

I blinked at the sudden reversal. But I wasn't about to object. I turned, nudged Connor to do the same, and walked out of the compound with my Qunari Warden.

The gate slammed shut behind us. "What was that all about," Connor demanded.

Sten stared straight ahead. "It is not your concern."

I looked up at the stoic warrior. "It is a concern of mine," I disagreed, "but it is not something we need to discuss now."

He did not reply.

* * *

><p>Varric had been busy.<p>

"I've secured you passage on a merchant ship bound for Amaranthine that leaves on the evening tide," he declared.

"We need an extra berth. Sten here is coming with us," I replied, indicating my new companions with a nod of my head. As Varric ogled him with wide eyes, I decided to tease the dwarf some more. "I poached him from the Arishok. Have you got any idea how fun it is to annoy a Qunari with eight horns? Well, so long as you're leaving the city..."

Varric covered his eyes. "Wonderful. Two days ago everything was fine and dandy. Now I've got infuriated templars, pissed off city guards and incensed Qunari to deal with. The evening tide can't come soon enough. I have got to get you out of my city," he groaned.

I stifled a grin. "I might have to delay departure til tomorrow. I have to go and visit the Dalish Keeper of a nearby clan before we leave."

Varric winced. "Will a letter suffice? I'll hand it to Marethari personally if you promise to go to the docks now and hide aboard the ship until she leaves."

"You know Marethari?"

The sodding dwarf grinned at my surprise. "We've met. I told you Daisy was a friend. She used to be Marethari's First."

Suddenly, the Keeper's admonition that her apprentice was protected made sense. "All right. I could use the peace. I'll write her a letter, then we'll grab our stuff and go to the docks."

* * *

><p>Despite Varric's cynical expectations, we were not assaulted on our way to the ship. The captain barely gave our group a glance as we boarded, merely accepting a small pouch from our dwarvern companion.<p>

"Warden, I'd say it's been a pleasure, but not even I can lie that convincingly. I'll have the Starkhaven contracts sent to you in a month." He held out a hand.

I accepted it with an amused smile. "Thank you Varric. I promise that if I ever return, I'll try to give you plenty of warning."

He swallowed. "Please do. Warn me, that is. I'll take the time to sell everything and leave town."

"Oh come now, it wasn't that bad," I objected.

He looked incredulous. "Not that bad? In one day you pissed off the three biggest and best armed groups in the city! And as far as I can tell, you actually believe you can deal with them!"

"She can," Connor claimed. Sten rumbled an agreement.

Varric looked up at the giant, then to Connor, then back to me. "You can?"

I nodded. "Of course."

He swallowed, loud enough to hear over the noise of the docks. "Okay, I'm never mentioning this day to anyone. Ever."

o_ooo000ooo_o

AN: Thank you to all my readers and reviewers. Apologies for the delay in this chapter. After months on blood thinners after getting blood clots in my lungs, I gave up everything that had nothing to do with my health or family for been focusing on my health for the last 3 months.

I'm oddly pleased at how similar some aspects of my planned plot is to the plot of Inquisition. Without spoilers, the antagonist in the game is the same in my fic, and he has the same sort of plan. No Breach, of course, but I might have to 'accidentally' fix that problem to keep my story canon-ish.

Merry Christmas to you all.


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